Save The Last Dance For Me
by Kristine Thorne
Summary: This came into being following the episode of Holby where Ric resigned. RicConnie.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the BBC. 

Save The Last Dance For Me

As Connie marched resolutely down the corridor to Ric's office, his letter of resignation trying to burn a hole in her palm, her rage steadily grew. How dare he, how dare he do this, walk out on her, walk out on the hospital, just when she was beginning to mould her empire to her satisfaction. She didn't care what his reasons were, all she knew that he was one of the best surgeons she'd ever worked with, and she wanted him to stay. Sitting glumly at his desk, mindlessly sifting through piles of paperwork, Ric recognised the forthright click of her heels as they approached his door. He would know that precise, authoritative walk anywhere. He'd known she would do this, and he barely suppressed a groan at the predictability of her arrival. Quite without knocking, Connie thrust open the door to his office, strolling in, as though she owned the place, which he supposed in a way she did. 

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" She demanded furiously, slamming his open letter of resignation down on his desk. "What are you talking about?" He asked mildly, her bluster never having made much impression on him. "This, is what I'm talking about, your somewhat pathetic attempt to disappear without even discussing it." "What is there to discuss?" Ric said blandly. "I'm fed up of playing hospital politics, so I quit. Where's the problem?" "The problem," She said, leaning over his desk like the predatory tiger she was. "Is that I do not intend to lose one of the best surgeons this hospital has ever had." "Connie," Ric said in growing exasperation. "I don't care whether or not my sticking around was part of your master plan, because it isn't going to happen. Now, why don't you sit down, shut up, and start listening for once in your life, and I might just take the time to tell you what you're obviously determined to know." Staring at him in complete shock, Connie did what he'd told her, moving round to perch on the edge of his desk so that she was facing him as he pushed his chair slightly back from her. If Zubin had spoken to her like this, it would have been nothing new, but Ric was different. He didn't usually achieve his ends by shouting, which meant that he obviously wanted her to heed his request. "Connie," He began, having calmed down considerably. "When I first started working here, I had a team around me whose primary concern was to save lives. That was how it was supposed to be, and that's how I hoped it would stay. But I don't feel that that's the way things are any more. Connie, I think you've forgotten what is really important in this job, I think you've forgotten why you originally wanted to go into medicine." He could see the mental hackles rising in her eyes, and put out a hand to keep her quiet, finding to his surprise that she took it in hers. "You are so wrapped up in building and expanding your empire, that you've forgotten what we are all supposed to be here to do. Hospital politics isn't what you were made for, Connie, because believe me, that isn't where your extensive skills lie. Your husband might have made a career of manipulating every person who tries to stand in his path, and he might have the politician's habit of playing people off against each other like chess pieces, but I don't think that way of doing things is really for you. Connie, carry on the way you are, and you won't have a hospital or a team left to rule." 

In the ensuing silence, Connie just stared at him. Was he right? She couldn't help but wonder. She knew she could get caught up in Michael's harebrained schemes of manipulation, because it usually gave her an enormous buzz to move people around as she desired, and not as they thought best. But had she lost the true reason for her being here? She didn't think so, but Ric certainly had given her something to think about. "It's not quite as simple as you might think," She said eventually. "As Medical Director, my responsibility is to the hospital trust." "Connie, I once was Clinical Director remember, I know precisely how complicated your sense of loyalty must be. That is precisely why I gave up the job, because I was no longer allowed to give the majority of my time and commitment to my patients, which is what I should have been able to do. I hated having to answer to a group of bureaucrats in suits who didn't know the first thing about adequate patient care. The trust loathed my very existence, primarily because I always put my patients' best interests over the trust's, not something that ever made me very popular. I think that you're only just beginning to find out how difficult that balancing act really is." "I think I found that out on the day of Will's funeral," She admitted ruefully, the thought having slipped out before she could prevent it. "Yes," Ric agreed sombrely. "And you've been running away from that ever since." "I didn't come here to talk about Will," She said quietly, slightly turning her face away from his, though he could still see her pain. 

"Do you want my honest opinion?" He asked, wanting to change the subject from something that was obviously still very raw to her. "I think you've already given me more than enough of your considered opinion," She said with a rueful smile. "But far be it from me to halt you in your stride." "I don't think that having Michael on the hospital board is doing you any favours," He said carefully, knowing that he didn't have anything to lose, but all the same not really wanting to further alienate her. "Oh?" She said noncommittally, one eyebrow raised. "Connie, you may think that having the chairman of the board under your thumb, will give you unlimited licence to bring in whatever changes you see fit, but I think you'll find that it will eventually work the other way. I can see it already. You thought you had Zubin all wrapped up, didn't you, you thought that all you had to do was to lean on Michael to persuade him to do what you asked, only it didn't work, did it?" "It would have done," She replied bitterly. "If you hadn't swanned in at the last minute to plead his less than worthy cause." "And do you know why I did that?" He asked, for the moment ignoring her sniping. "Because of some misguided notion of a thirty year friendship that you can't bear to let go." She instantly regretted her harsh words when she saw him wince. "No," He said almost sadly. "Because Zubin threw away any friendship we might have had when he began sleeping with my daughter. I supported Zubin, because it was the right thing to do. I might despise him for what he's done to Jess, but that doesn't stop me from thinking that he is usually highly professional in what he does. You were trying to force him to resign over a question of professionalism, something that I couldn't agree with, no matter what my personal feelings towards him might be." She was staring at him wide-eyed by this time, thinking that she had surely never heard anything quite so sincere. When Michael made his numerous protestations on everything from her management skills to his political rivals, he didn't ever sound as though he really meant any of it. But this, everything Ric had just said, had come from the heart, from the very essence of who he was. 

"Is that why you're going?" She asked into the silence. "Because of Professor Khan and his dalliance with your daughter?" "Partly," Ric admitted stonily. "But mostly it's because I want to actually feel needed again. Where I'm going, all I'll be required to do is precisely what I was trained to do, and hospital politics will be a thing of the past." "Do you not perhaps think that Jess might need you to stay?" Connie asked gently, not having expected such depth of honesty from him. "She doesn't need me," Ric said almost bitterly. "She's got a godfather and lover rolled into one. What could she possibly need in a father who's never been much good at parenting? Zubin is a far better example of being a satisfactory parent." "I really can't persuade you to stay, can I," Connie said quietly, finally realising that she had lost the battle. "No," Ric told her seriously. "Though I can't imagine why you would want to." "Well, we could start," Connie said exasperatedly. "With the fact that you are definitely one of the best surgeons I have ever worked with." "Save it for your new registrar," Ric replied dismissively, getting up from his chair and beginning to file away some of the papers on his desk. "What will it take for me to convince you?" Connie demanded, finding a little bit of residual fight left in her. "You can't," He told her simply. "I outlived my usefulness in this place a long time ago." "Listen to me, you stupid man," She said, slipping off the edge of the desk, walking over to him and slightly shaking his shoulders. "Hasn't it perhaps occurred to you, that I might want you to stay?" Ric stood and stared at her, the contact from her hands on his shoulders almost burning him with her touch. He could feel each one of her fingers, and the memory of her made him close his eyes for just a second, briefly savouring the memory of that other time they'd been in this office, on her very first day at Holby. "Connie, I can't stay here," He told her quietly. "Because there are far too many reasons why I should go." "If you really are so determined, then I suppose there's nothing I can do to stop you," She said just as quietly, leaning slightly closer to him as their eyes met, exchanging so many fleeting memories that they had both tried to suppress. When their lips met, softly and lingeringly, his arms went round her, both of them stepping off life for a time, holding each other close in memory of that other time they'd been together. He could feel every one of her delicious curves as they briefly clung to each other, their actions expressing that tiny, usually buried portion of fondness they held for each other. When their lips parted, they still held each other close, knowing that when they parted, it would be for good. Eventually releasing her and gently pushing her from him, Ric brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Will you do something for me?" He asked, not really knowing where this request had sprung from. "Will you keep an eye on Jess?" "Yes," She replied. Then, as a thought occurred to her, she said, "You think Zubin will eventually screw up on her, don't you." "I've known him a lot longer than she has," Ric said matter-of-factly. "So yes, I'm absolutely certain he will." "Then wouldn't that be all the more reason to stay?" Connie asked, wanting to have just one last try. "No," Ric told her bitterly. "This is something Jess needs to work out for herself. It's about time she learnt that not everything will always go her way." "Spoken like a true father," Connie said with a smile. As she watched him collect his things together, she couldn't help but grin. "Just out of interest," She asked with a smirk. "Precisely how many times did you hear the words, 'My Grandma once told me', when you were married to Lola?" "Too many for my sanity to stand," He replied ruefully. "Why do you think I left her? By the end of your first week together, you'll be hearing those words in your sleep." "Thanks for the warning," Connie said disgustedly. "Connie, what on earth possessed you to employ her?" "That was Michael's doing," Connie said bitterly. "He wouldn't let me have another male registrar. He said that if I couldn't sleep with my registrar, I couldn't possibly bring the hospital into disrepute. "He's probably right," Ric was forced to admit. "I didn't hear you complaining," Connie said with a knowing smile. "I wasn't your registrar," Ric quipped back, thinking that Connie was going to find Michael's influence creeping more and more into her work if she wasn't careful. 

As they moved towards the door, he briefly rested a hand on her shoulder. "Take care of yourself," He said quietly. Then, just before they stepped back out into the real world, he added, "Jess will always know where to find me." But as they walked out of his office, and resumed their appearance of distant politeness, it wasn't just Ric who was inwardly lamenting their having to leave the cosy confinement of that room. Behind at least that closed door, they had both been able to abandon the antipathy they held for each other in public, both being able to exchange a few true, sincerely meaningful words. As they walked side by side down the endless corridor, Ric couldn't help wondering whether he would ever come back to this place once he had left, whether or not he would again hear that voice that had the combined ability to fill him with enraged anger or intense arousal. He hoped so, he hoped that one day he would hear from Connie Beauchamp, wherever he happened to be. 


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

As Connie negotiated her way through Accra airport, she wondered, not for the first time, precisely what she was doing here. It was mid July, and Ric had been gone from Holby for about a month, and yet now here she was, on her way to find him. She didn't really know what had propelled her in his direction, it was simply a spur of the moment decision that she would either come to appreciate or to regret. She tried not to dwell on the exact circumstances of her making such a decision, as Ric would no doubt drag that out of her in due course. Collecting the one bag she'd brought with her, she made her way outside to look for something resembling a cab. As she was driven towards the hospital where she knew he now worked, she began to pray that he wouldn't be too shocked to see her. It was incredibly presumptuous of her to assume that he would give her somewhere to stay while she was here, but when did Connie Beauchamp ever do anything without a little bit of risk taking. 

As Ric emerged from his last operation of the day, he felt tired but happy. These last few weeks, ever since he'd come back to Ghana, had been the best he'd had in a long time. He was finally able to do the job he'd been trained for, without all the necessary politics that had been part and parcel of it back in England. As he strode down the corridor to his cluttered office, one of the male nurses called out to him. "Mr. Griffin, there's a lady waiting for you in your office. She's, er, very pretty." Breaking into a broad smile as the prospect of a beautiful female, Ric thanked him and flung open the door. "You're not wrong," He said, in response to the nurse's assertion that this lady was very pretty. Sitting in the chair behind his desk, offering him a slightly tentative smile, was Connie. Blinking just to make sure he wasn't dreaming, Ric moved into the room and closed the door. "This is a nice surprise," He said, as she rose from his chair and moved towards him. "Is it?" She asked, now unsure as to whether she should have come here. "Yes," He assured her. "Though I suppose that does depend on why you're here. It's a long way from Holby after all." "I was hoping you might give me a bed for a few days, preferably yours," She said with the barest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Though if your answer's no, I'm sure I could find somewhere to stay." "Of course you can stay with me," He replied, seeing something different in her face, something uncertain, something that told him that everything wasn't as it should be with her. "Are you all right?" He asked, briefly laying a hand on her shoulder. "Fine," She said very unconvincingly. "Just tired. It was a long flight." "Can you wait here," He asked her. "Just while I check up on a couple of patients, and then we can go home. One of the nicest things about this place is that I can actually leave at the end of a working day and forget about it." Connie smiled, seeing the first signs of genuine contentment in his face, something she hadn't ever seen in him back in Holby. 

After seeing the patients he needed to see, Ric returned to his office to collect Connie, and they walked out to his car. "Is that all you brought with you?" He asked in astonishment, glancing at the one, solitary bag, containing nothing more than a few hurriedly chosen clothes and other bare essentials. "A woman who goes away with less than the kitchen sink, I'm impressed." "Well, as I left in something of a hurry, clothes didn't really seem important." Then, when she caught sight of the smirk he couldn't quite suppress at the thought of Connie going completely without clothes, she added, "and get your mind out of the gutter." "You were the one who said you wanted my bed for a few days," He quipped back as they reached his car. "All I'm doing is living up to your wish." The soft laugh that emanated from her seemed to make them both relax, breaking the tension that had existed until now, and putting them back on the flirtatious, argumentative footing that was vaguely familiar to both of them. Ric didn't attempt to persuade her to tell him why she was here, because he knew this would come out when she was ready and not before. But he could see that something big had happened, something that had seriously upset her, which in itself was worrying, because not much usually managed to pierce that toughened exterior of hers. They were silent for a while as they drove through the capital city of Ghana, with all the windows open to let in what little air there was, the hot, humid weather being almost dense enough to touch. "The other wonderful thing about being out here," Ric said, breaking their contented silence. "Is that apart from the usual taxes, I get to keep my entire salary." "Ah yes," Connie said in languid appreciation. "The avoidance of one's creditors must seem a blessed relief." "You're not kidding," Ric said ruefully, thinking that it would be an enormous pleasure to take a beautiful woman out for dinner, and actually be in a position to pay for it. 

When they reached his house, Connie just stared in open-mouthed astonishment. They were on the outskirts of the city, and in front of them was a very pretty, one-story dwelling made almost entirely of wood, raised up a little from ground level. The road they were on led to the back of the small property, where there was room for just one car. Leading the way, Ric walked round to the other side of the little house, where wooden steps led up to a porch that contained a long, comfortable-looking wicker seat. But what almost took Connie's breath away, was the small stretch of very sparse grass that led down to the endless golden sand of the beach that began literally feet from his front door. Turning to look out to sea, Connie thought she could get lost in a view like that, with the early evening sun making jewels in the spray that drifted up on the air. "Incredible, isn't it," Ric said quietly, breaking in on her reverie and moving to join her, placing a gentle arm around her shoulders. "Yes," She said in wonder. "It's beautiful." "Nothing brings more peace to the soul, than the sound of the gently lapping waves," He said softly, the words flowing over her just as the waves were caressing the sand. "Maybe that's what I need," Connie said equally quietly, still not looking at him, and thinking that she had definitely made the right decision in coming here. 

He took her that evening to a little restaurant about ten minutes drive down the coast, where they ate beautifully cooked fish with sweet potatoes and salad. Connie was on her second glass of chilled white wine, when she finally decided to raise the subject of why she was there. Ric had been immensely patient with her, and it had paid off. Whether as a result of his simple acceptance of her being here, or the wine she had consumed, she was beginning to relax, to feel the tension gradually seeping out of her. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here," She said, taking a sip from her glass. "I knew if I waited long enough you'd tell me," Ric said quietly, having been quite content to let her do this in her own time. "I needed to get out of Holby, just for a while," She said evasively. "You could say that I needed to step off life, if that doesn't sound too melodramatic." "I think we all need to do that from time to time," Ric said thoughtfully, wondering what had given her such an urge. "I think if I'd stayed there, I would be doing time for the odd murder by now." "That bad?" Ric asked, spearing a piece of sweet potato, before munching on it as he waited for her answer. "I caught Michael in bed with Chrissie," She said eventually, feeling a little stupid at how pathetic her reason for flying really sounded. "Ouch," Ric said in heartfelt sympathy. "She certainly gets around." "Well, I can't exactly talk, can I," Connie said disgustedly. Then, at Ric's slightly uncomfortable expression, she said, "Oh, don't look like that, I'm not stupid. I am well aware that my numerous exploits with various registrars are fairly common gossip by now." "That doesn't mean that you don't have the right to feel hurt over Chrissie," Ric said quietly, knowing that something like this was always different when it happened to oneself. "I shouldn't though, should I," Connie said bitterly. "I know that Michael strays, and he knows I do, that's just the way we've always been. On a particularly good day, you'll even find us talking about it afterwards." "I do hope you didn't do that after your little tryst with me," Ric said with a slight frown. "No, though the urge to do so was almost unbearably tempting," She said with a wicked little smirk. "But I didn't want to make him feel in any way inferior." Ric couldn't help laughing, the backhanded compliment giving his tattered ego an enormous boost. Connie smiled, finding the sound of his full-bodied laugh intoxicating. "The point is," She said, the serious expression returning to her face. "He broke one of our rules. We don't have many, but they're all important: Don't get involved with anyone who could cause any unwanted hassle; Certainly don't bring home anything resembling a dodgy disease; Don't bring someone home when the other is likely to appear unannounced; and do not fraternise with each other's staff." "It sounds almost too good to be true," Ric observed mildly. "That's the point, it worked, up until this, because we both liked it like that. I could have just about dealt with coming home to find him with someone I didn't know, but not Chrissie, not someone I see and work with every day. That just felt as though he was purposefully trying to humiliate me." She'd said this last part a little more quietly, as if this revelation had only just occurred to her. "Do you think that's really why he did it?" Ric asked gently, thinking that there was probably no doubt on this point. "Yes, more than likely," Connie admitted gloomily. "Because it would put me firmly back in my place, and keep me well and truly under his thumb." She finished this statement in a tone of such bitterness, that Ric laid a gentle hand over one of hers, where it rested on the tablecloth. 

"Connie, what did you really come here for?" He asked her seriously. "Other than to take a long overdue break?" "To tell you that you were right," She said miserably, her eyes finally rising to meet his. "And to tell you that I hate you for it," She added with a wan smile, giving his hand a tentative squeeze to show she didn't really mean it. "There's got to be a first time for everything, I suppose," Ric said with widening eyes, never having expected any such protestation from her. If there was one thing he would never have thought Connie Beauchamp capable of, it was abandoning her pride and admitting she'd been wrong. "Why, Ric," She asked him in despair, feeling pitifully small as the tears rose unbidden to her eyes. "Why did you have to be right about him? I've been married to him for nearly eighteen years, yet even though he's done this to me before, I still couldn't see it. Manipulating people is the one thing that gives him an even bigger kick than sex, so you could say I learned from the best. It's what he does, waits for me to achieve recognition in some new hospital, lets me get settled, with the people I manage doing things my way, and then he crawls his way onto the board, making me think he can influence decisions right and left. He'll even let me think I was behind a few of them. He'll build me up time and time again, and then he'll pull the rug out from under me, and make me look as stupid and ineffectual as possible, until the hospital can't wait to pass me onto somewhere else. Every single time I fall for it, and all I'm ever left with is Michael, because he's the only one who can ever save my professional bacon, and keep my reputation vaguely in tact." Seeming to run out of steam, she stopped, wondering just where all that had come from. Ric surely didn't want to know all this, and all it would have done was to give him a hold over her, a weakness whose existence he would never let her forget. 

Ric simply sat and watched her, none of what she'd said having surprised him in the least. He had wondered just how far Michael's influence went with Connie, and it didn't shock him in the least that he managed to maintain such a successful control on his wife. He could also see how much Connie had needed to say all this, perhaps for longer than he had even known her. But she hadn't entirely given way. He could see the tears shining in those enormous, violet eyes, but she was almost pathologically determined not to let them fall. Obviously wanting to avoid his scrutiny, she dug in her handbag, and emerged with a lighter and a packet of cigarettes. "Can I smoke in here?" She asked, her eyes straying around them looking for something telling her no. "Yes, I should think so," He said, leaning over to the empty table beside them and removing its ashtray, putting it down where her plate had been. Funny, but they'd been so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn't even noticed their plates being removed. She didn't ask if he minded, simply expecting him to tell her if he did, which he didn't. "Tom Campbell-Gore would have my head for saying this to a heart surgeon," He said, as she lit up and took a long drag. "But it suits you." "I'll remember that, the next time I'm doing a triple bypass," She said, letting out a short laugh with the exhalation of smoke. "You know," She said, continuing from where they'd left off. "Whenever we get someone in who's been beaten up by their husband, part of me usually despises them if they don't want to leave, because I like to think that I wouldn't put up with anything like that in a million years. But Michael's just as bad in some respects, except that he goes about it in a far more devious and calculating way. Michael wouldn't demean himself by being systematically violent to me, but that doesn't make him any less lethal. I'm sorry," She said, flicking the ash off her cigarette. "You really don't want to hear all this." "It's all right," He said, topping up her glass. "You obviously need to say it." 


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

For pudding, they ate a gloriously refreshing combination of kiwi, guava, mango and passion fruit, all presented in the scooped out skin of a pineapple. It made a blissfully light end to a delicious meal, leaving Connie feeling pleasantly full but not overly so. As they walked out of the restaurant, Connie breathed in the hot, dusty, humid air, tasting its very different smell, tinged with the salt from the sea. The crickets were twittering when they arrived back at Ric's house, creating their own private melody in the still evening air. "As you came out here on something of a whim," Ric said, unlocking the door and going inside. "I'll assume you didn't have any of the relevant jabs." "No," She said a little sheepishly. "Even though I'm a doctor, it simply didn't occur to me." "Well, just be careful," Ric warned her. It being far too hot to even consider coffee, Ric unearthed some more wine from the fridge, and then retrieved something far more exciting from a drawer in the small, wooden sideboard. "Do you mind?" He asked her, holding up the packet of cannabis. "No," She said, her eyes slightly widening. "Not as long as you're willing to share." "I didn't know you liked an illegal smoke," He said in surprise, beginning to roll a joint. "Not since I was sixteen, which was far too long ago for me to contemplate, but why not, I am on holiday after all." Taking their wine, they went out onto the porch, Connie sinking down onto the wicker seat, and Ric moving to pull down the insect screen, fastening it in place. They could still see out, and they could still feel the warm, sultry air, what little of it there was, but now they were protected from the malaria carrying mosquitoes. Joining her on the seat that just about had enough room for two, Ric lit the joint and offered it first to Connie who took a tentative drag. "Nice," She said, after inhaling the fiery narcotic. Then something occurred to her. "I almost forgot," She said, handing the joint back to him. "I've brought something for you." "Oh?" He said, highly intrigued as to what it might be. "Take a hit of that while I find it," She said, getting to her feet. "You might want to be a little relaxed before you see it." Leaning back and taking a long drag of his own, Ric gazed out to sea, thinking that this time last night, he never would have guessed that he would be here, smoking a joint with Connie Beauchamp of all people. He was happy to have her in his space, he realised, also something he wouldn't have expected to feel. He could hear the different insects buzzing around the outside of his home, some of them propelling themselves against the porch screen, trying to get at the vulnerable human flesh beyond. He could also hear a faint rustling in the long grass that gently caressed each end wall of his house, their thin tendrils seeming to hold the little bungalow off the ground. He wondered idly if his adopted friend was out there somewhere, the beautifully marked, long-necked snake who usually appeared on his porch of a morning, knowing if she waited long enough that he would put out a saucer of fresh water for her. 

When Connie returned, she was holding in her hand what looked like a photograph. Silently giving it to him, she sat down and took the joint from his fingers. The photo was a snapshot of Jess, looking tired and slightly drawn, with a very wrinkled, very red-faced baby in her arms. He gazed at it, not having known that she'd given birth, as any letter would take ages to reach him, and he still hadn't got round to installing a phone in his house. Glancing at the back of the photograph, he saw the date of two days before, followed by the words, "Weighed six pounds eight ounces. Still thinking of a name for him." "You have a grandson," Connie said unnecessarily. "So I see," Ric replied, still gazing at the picture of his daughter and her child, Zubin's child. "Diane thought you would appreciate it more, if the father wasn't included," Connie said quietly, taking in the almost complete lack of expression on his face. "She's right," Ric said philosophically. "It's funny," He added after a while. "But it all seems a bit unreal. It's probably because they're so far away." "I'm not sure if it'll make you feel any happier," Connie told him carefully. "But Zubin was there when he was born. He did at least get that right." "Was Jess...?" Ric hesitantly asked, not quite able to find the right words. "Is she...?" "She's fine," Connie reassured him. "Tired but fine." Taking one last look at the photograph, Ric rose from his seat and went to put it away indoors, obviously wanting to put it somewhere safe until he wished to look at it again. When he came back, most of his previously relaxed expression had returned. "I hope you're not going to try to persuade me to go back," He said, sitting down again and taking the joint for another drag. "I might have briefly considered it," Connie admitted. "But after seeing how happy and settled you are, I wouldn't dream of it. You've looked so different for most of this evening, more relaxed and more at peace with yourself than I ever thought possible. I'm not about to try and take that away from you." "Diane would if she were here," Ric said with a fond smile. "Which is precisely why I persuaded her to let me come instead," Connie amazed him by saying. "When the baby was born, Diane was all set to come out here and in her own words, "make you come home to where you belong, stop running away and grow up." But as I'd just had a monumental row with Michael, it occurred to me that I could kill two birds with one stone. Mind you, persuading Diane that my motives were remotely honourable was certainly something of an uphill struggle." Ric laughed softly, far too able to picture Diane and Connie arguing over this. "I think that I am home," He said into the resulting silence. "Because for the first time in my life, I actually feel as though I really belong. I'm doing the job I always wanted to do, no more, no less. I don't have to pander to the likes of Zubin, or your husband, not to mention any of my ex-wives, and I don't constantly feel as though I'm being asked to give something that I haven't got. I actually feel as though I'm doing something purely for me for a change, which is an achievement in itself." "Ric, you're preaching to the converted," Connie said with a smile, enchanted by the vehemence of his protestations. "Sorry," He said a little sheepishly. "But it occurred to me yesterday, that not once since I've been out here, have I even thought of trying to find a casino." "That's the best reason of all for not trying to make you come back," Connie said quietly, feeling the sincere magnitude of such an affirmation. 

"Anyway," He said, finally stubbing out the end of the joint. "We've talked quite enough about me. What are you going to do about Michael?" "Ric, we've done nothing but talk about me all evening," Connie protested, though she was touched by his continuing concern. "But to answer your question, the only thing I can say is, other than to chop his dick off without an anaesthetic, I really don't know." Ric tried not to wince. "Connie, if I didn't think I knew you better than that, I would be seriously concerned that you might actually go through with that threat." Connie laughed evilly, and then said in the most deliciously sexy drawl she could muster, "Ah, but then you don't know me all that well, now do you, Mr. Griffin." "I'm learning," He assured her, their eyes meeting in a promisingly smouldering caress, that immediately turned up the heat in both of them. After a long, almost explosive stare, Ric went inside to roll another joint, more than anything to give him some time to think. He wanted Connie, even more than he'd wanted her on her first day back in June last year. But that didn't automatically mean that she felt the same. He could feel that she was hurting, far more than she was willing to admit, therefore sleeping with someone else really might not be on the cards for her. He would have to be very gentle with her, he realised, and allow her to set the pace. 

When he sat down beside her again and lit the joint, he laid an unimposing arm along the back of the seat, close enough to be able to touch her if that was what she wanted, and far enough away if she didn't. Connie's long, beautiful legs were stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles, and she really was beginning to look relaxed. "You know, I wouldn't mind having you fulfill my curiosity about something," He said, after taking a long and satisfying drag. "Why wasn't Michael there to give you moral support, when we were trying to get you all out of that fire?" "Oh, that's very simple," Connie said disdainfully. "We'd had a row, about my coming into work on Boxing Day, even though I tried to explain that hearts don't just become available in the middle of the working week. Michael seems to have accused me of putting my job first for the greater part of my life. So, presumably he went off in a sulk and either didn't find out about the fire until it was all over, or simply couldn't give a damn whether or not his wife came out alive. It was just one of those questions that I could never quite be bothered to ask. The other possibility is that to spite me for going into work, he was with one of his secretaries, or any other nameless individual." "But I thought that your job was what gave him his hold over you," Ric put in, clearly trying to fight his way through the confusion. "Precisely," Connie told him with a mirthless laugh. "But I believe they call it the politician's prerogative, to have things any way one wants them, even if it means contradicting oneself in the process. Don't try to understand the workings of Michael's mind, Ric, you'll be there for the next decade, and it won't serve any useful purpose." They were silent for a while, passing the joint between them and listening to the buzz and twitter of the nighttime insects. Then, leaning slightly closer to him, Connie surprised him with, "something I should have done at the time, and have been putting off ever since, was to thank you for getting me out of that fire. I wouldn't be alive today if you hadn't done your damnedest to talk me out of there." "And that would have been a waste of positively criminal proportions," Ric said silkily, though greatly appreciating her sentiment. "I'm serious," She insisted. "So am I," He said, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. 

It surprised neither of them when their lips met, because they both knew that they'd been working steadily up to this all evening. They could taste a combination of the wine and the dope on each other's lips, their tongues silkily entwining, all Connie's internal muscles twitching in anticipation. Ric thought that it was a very long time since he'd found a simple kiss so erotic, but her taste, her soft, pouting lips, and her delicately flickering tongue, were all sending the most primeval signals straight to his groin. In having his left arm round her, he could reach up with his hand to gently play with the soft strands of her hair, occasionally twisting them round his fingers. When they eventually came up for air, Connie leaned her cheek against his, also needing a brief moment to regroup. Was this what she'd come out here for, to be treated to some of Ric's particular kind of seduction? When it worked, and when they weren't arguing, the sex was fantastic with Michael, because she wouldn't ever have stayed so long with him if it hadn't been. But Ric made her feel so explosive, erotically charging her to the point of flashover, and making her feel as though she might internally combust. It wasn't long before their mouths were hungrily seeking out the other's once more, all their hitherto buried memories of last June far too easily resurrected. Ric had stalked her like a predatory cat in his office that day, when she'd been shamelessly offering her body to him on a plate. Connie laughed slightly as he nibbled at her lower lip, and soon retaliated by briefly trapping his tongue between her teeth. Taking his right hand in hers, she led it unselfconsciously to her breast, sucking in a breath through her teeth as his thumb grazed luxuriously over her nipple. "Does that hurt?" He asked in concern, briefly detaching his lips from hers. "I wouldn't care if it did," She said very unsteadily. "It's almost too good." "Nothing, can ever, be too good," Ric told her between kisses, his voice becoming deeper with his own arousal. "Can we take this somewhere with a little more space?" Connie asked after a while, desperately wanting whatever else Ric might do to her, though not entirely wanting to admit it. "I'm sure that can be arranged," He told her, getting up and pulling her with him, standing with her held fast to him just for a moment, as her arms went up around his neck. Their kisses were becoming hungrier if this was at all possible, and Connie could now feel the true extent of his arousal. "Now that's one thing I couldn't ever forget," She said with a smirk, teasingly moving her thigh up against him. Ric laughed a little smugly, his favourite physical attribute beating Michael Beauchamp into insignificance, any day of the week. 

Ric's bedroom faced the same way as his lounge, and through the open blinds they could still capture the beauty of the sea, glistening in the fiery glory of the setting sun. They made fast work of each other's clothes, wanting to be skin to skin as quickly as possible. "You're beautiful," Ric said, as he finally surveyed her completely naked body, framed in all its sensuality by the half-light coming in through the window. "And you're stoned," She said a little mockingly, though nonetheless appreciative of the complement. Far too often these days, Michael forgot to tell her such things, seeming to think that she knew it already. "I'm not that stoned," He insisted as they moved over to the bed, Connie's eyes making a sweeping assessment of his body from head to toe, smirking to herself at the enormity of his arousal. When he joined her on the bed, their hands began wandering in earnest, each following the familiar paths of couples everywhere, seeking to prolong and maximise their pleasure with every touch. "You know something," Ric said, simultaneously nibbling on her neck and gently coaxing her nipples to full hardness. "I've always thought that women were made for receiving pleasure." "That's not quite all they're made for," Connie admonished him, her feminist hackles rising in protest. "At times like this it is," He insisted, finding a particular spot just below her ear that made her gasp. "You see, whilst every female body might look fairly similar at a glance, they're all undeniably different. They all feel different, they certainly all taste different, and they all react differently to various forms of stimuli." "Whereas all most men really need is anything that constitutes a glorified wank," Connie said, loving the way he seemed to have slipped into lecture mode at the same time as touching her. "Perhaps," He admitted with a smile. "Though it all depends on the skill of the woman giving it, not something I should expect you would need to brush up on." "Flattery, will get you everywhere," She drawled huskily. "Oh, that's good," He teased her. "Though it ought to be remembered, that practice makes perfect every time." "How do you do that?" She asked, her breathing noticeably quickening. "Use your mouth to drive me wild and lecture me at the same time?" "Ah, that happens to be a trade secret," He said evasively. "Why, is it having the desired effect?" "Just a bit," She admitted with a laugh. "And the secrets behind such a talented mouth really ought to be guarded most carefully." "You've seen nothing yet," He promised her, kissing his way down until he was delicately suckling on her left nipple, gently tugging at the hard little nub, before soothing it with his agile tongue. Connie groaned luxuriously as the coil of pleasure seemed to spiral right down to her toes. Ric took his time over her, wanting to coax every ounce of pleasure from this beautiful body of hers. He paid the same homage to her other breast, knowing how women hated it when one of them was unintentionally left out. 

He kissed his way down her torso and along her thighs, breathing in the heady, musky scent that emanated from her, which he found was further inflaming his need for her. "Ric," She said with a laugh. "I'm hardly a bitch on heat." "Don't you believe it," He teased her. But as he gently parted her legs, clearly intending to bury his lips at her centre, she stopped him, laying a hand on his shoulder and saying, "Ric, no, you can't." "Why?" He asked, looking up at her utterly perplexed. Connie tried to think on her feet, which was made doubly difficult for her by the fact that most of her brain seemed to have shut down. "Because I'm not especially in the mood for returning the favour," She said, thinking this a particularly good reason in her intellectually challenged state. "I'm not asking you to," He assured her. "Ric," She said, turning her face away from him. "I haven't been near a shower since I left England." "Trust me," He said, the tip of his tongue just tracing the outer surface of her labia. "You taste incredible, so just relax and enjoy it." Taking his word for it, Connie lay still and let him continue, feeling the tiny butterfly kisses he was leaving on her, for the moment avoiding the pinnacle of all her desires. When he delicately inched his tongue inside her, she felt as though her entire soul was open for all to see, and that not one, single shred of her personality could be hidden from him. He perpetually alternated between flickering his tongue over her clitoris, further sampling her essence and returning to nibble her bud with the fullest, softest lips she had ever encountered on a man. It was as though he was worshipping her, trying to consume her entire self. But when he settled into a contented rhythm of swirling his tongue around her entrance, and using the tip of his nose to massage her clitoris, Connie cried out, the dual sensation feeling almost unbearably erotic. She bit down on her right hand, trying to stifle the sounds that were now coming from her, but Ric gently reached up to remove it, wanting to hear every reaction to his ministrations. "I don't want to frighten off the wildlife," She said with an unsteady laugh. "You're one of them now," He told her, his voice slightly muffled by its proximity to her flesh. Too true, Connie thought ruefully to herself, thinking that communing with nature was bringing something new out in her, making her go that extra mile to achieve her goal. As the speed in his oral endeavours increased, Ric caressed both her nipples, trying to give her as much stimulation as was humanly possible. Connie's entire body tensed as she climaxed, and this was followed by the slight tremor as all her electrical impulses sent random sparks around her body, causing all her muscles to twitch with little aftershocks. But Ric didn't stop, his languorously sweeping tongue taking in every drop of her sexual secretion, as though it were the finest wine he'd ever tasted. Before Connie knew it, she was heading for another orgasm, his persistently wandering tongue making her highly sensitised flesh react immediately. She thought that she just might internally combust with this second peak as it swept over her, as a cry of pure, sincere pleasure was torn from her lips. 

She lay spent, her body sprawled over his bed, and her skin glistening with perspiration. Her legs were slightly parted, but she couldn't move so much as a single muscle. That second orgasm had been so intense, so utterly mind blowing that it had brought brief tears to her eyes. As Ric moved to lie beside her, he could see that her eyes were thoroughly glazed and that she was breathing hard. She attempted to turn onto her side, presumably to be closer to him, but the effort required was simply beyond her at that moment, so Ric put out his arms and turned her towards him, so that her cheek rested against his chest. "Are you trying to commit murder, by making me overdose on pleasure?" She asked eventually, her voice much deeper with post-orgasmic exhaustion. "It's hardly my fault that you taste so delicious," He told her, his own voice slightly deeper than usual. Summoning the necessary strength, she lifted her head from his chest and leaned up to kiss him, taking in her exotic taste that flavoured his lips. "Not bad, I suppose," She said grudgingly, after kissing him thoroughly. "It beats anything a man can produce any day." Ric laughed. "I will have recovered in a while," She promised him. "Just give me a minute." "You take your time," He said, perfectly happy to let her regroup at her own speed. He softly ran his hands over her back and shoulders, occasionally making a detour to her breasts, delighting in the feel of her silky soft skin. 

But when she appeared to return to the land of the living, her right hand trailed down until she was running it tenderly over his erection. Her touch was half way between firm and gentle, in other words perfect. He made a sound deep in his throat as her thumb grazed over the drop of moisture at the tip, his own hands again beginning to wander. But as his left hand crept between her legs, to ascertain that she really was ready for him, she moved to lie on her back, and to encourage him to move over her. But instead of following her lead, he turned her back onto her side, their legs entwining as he slid inside her. "Far more civilised in this heat," He said by way of explanation, though thinking that he would surely be scalded by the boiling, bubbling cauldron that was raging away inside her. Instead of being hard and furious as they might otherwise have enjoyed it, their lovemaking was long, sensitive and above all gentle. Ric could see that this was what Connie needed tonight, the feeling of being cared for rather than the feeling of simply matching her partners exuberance. Their arms were around each other, and he could feel the swell of her breasts against his chest. They exchanged deep, lingering kisses that moved in perfect synchrony with their swaying bodies. When they gently rocked themselves to completion, Connie briefly clung to him, just for that moment showing her vulnerability. 

As they lay there in utter contentment, slightly apart because of the heat, no words needed to be said. They required no explanation for what they'd done, and any thought of what would happen on the morrow was neither welcome nor necessary. Through the insect screen that covered the open window, the only sound to break the silence of the night, was the soft caress of the sea, rocking to and fro just as they had done moments earlier. Advance, and then retreat, advance, and then retreat. This was the rhythm of the water that lapped against the sand, gradually lulling them both into a deep, exhausted sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four

When Connie awoke the next morning, it took her a little while to remember where she was, but the heat and the sound of the sea soon told her. God, she didn't think she'd felt quite so lazily or languidly relaxed in a very long time. Ric was still sleeping beside her, his slow, deep breathing incredibly quiet. They had lain without so much as a cotton sheet covering them all night because of the heat and humidity, and Connie found herself leaning up on an elbow, her eyes running the length of Ric's attractive body. He had a soft, sleepy smile on his face, and one of his hands was slightly twitching in the midst of a dream. She smirked, however, when she caught sight of his early morning arousal, and thought that she couldn't think of a nicer way to wake him up. 

Carefully sliding down the bed so as not to wake him prematurely, Connie began dropping delicate kisses along the entire length of his erection, tasting a vague hint of herself from the night before on his skin. When Ric felt her incredibly sensitive ministrations, he groaned luxuriously, his eyes lazily opening to glance down at her. God, that mouth of hers really is as sinful as it looks, he thought to himself as she tenderly guided the head between her lips. It had been far longer than he cared to remember since a woman had done this for him, never mind woken him up with it. But he had no intention of letting her take him all the way like that. Well, not this morning anyway. Gently detaching her from himself, he coaxed her back up to lie beside him, and kissed her long and hard. "I haven't been woken up like that in a long time," He said, feeling her soft curves nestling against him. "I thought you might like it," She said with a smile. "Mmm, too much," He said with a yawn, his hands beginning to trace every contour of her body. When he eventually encouraged her to move over him, she leant her hands on his shoulders and internally gripped him, making him briefly wonder if he'd died and gone to heaven. Their coupling didn't last as long as on the previous night, but they both found it an inordinately pleasant way to begin the morning. Afterwards, Connie grabbed herself a long, thankfully ice cold scrub under Ric's slightly temperamental shower, whilst he went round removing insect screens from the windows to let in as much air as possible, and to draw the blinds against the sun. When she emerged, she was wearing nothing but a pale blue bikini, and Ric took a moment to simply stare at her. "See something you like, Mr. Griffin," She teased him mockingly. "Yes," He said without hesitation, handing her a bottle of insect repellent. "As I suspect you will probably spend far too much of today soaking up the sun, you need to plaster yourself all over with this." "They'll have no chance, what with this and sun block," She said, taking the bottle from him and beginning to smother her forearms, as Ric went to take a shower before leaving for work. 

Finding some orange juice in the fridge, she poured herself a glass and peeled a banana, smirking as it reminded her far too clearly of waking Ric up that morning. When she heard Ric emerge from the shower, she dug her cigarettes and lighter out of her handbag, and walked out onto the porch, where Ric had raised the insect screen out of the way should she wish to descend the steps. Connie had just lit a cigarette and taken a long and immensely satisfying drag, when she happened to glance down at something on the top step that had caught her eye. "Jesus Christ!" She exclaimed in shock, as the long head of the snake peeped over the edge of the porch, the rest of its coils draped over the lower steps. It was clearly sizing her up, its tongue flicking tentatively to and fro, as if tasting the air around her, sampling the pheromones that were surely coming off her in waves. Ric had heard her exclamation of sheer fright, and he suddenly appeared, still trying to do up his shirt, and wearing comfortable looking cotton trousers. When he saw what she was staring at in wide-eyed horror, he said, "Oh, I should have told you about her." "Told me what?" Connie asked, unable to take her eyes from the highly elegant and, she was forced to admit, strangely beautiful reptile. "She comes up here for fresh water," Ric said, going back into the house and emerging with a small bowl of water, stepping carefully passed the snake, and putting it down in the long grass beside the house wall. "Trust you to have a bloody pet snake," Connie said disgustedly, though relaxing slightly as she saw that its presence didn't bother Ric in the slightest. "She started turning up a couple of days after I moved here," he explained, watching the snake as it watched Connie. "I think she's trying to work out if you're a threat to her. She will smell your fear of her, which is far more likely to make her protective towards her habitat." "Is she dangerous?" Connie asked, feeling that this was a particularly stupid question. "Probably," Ric said extremely casually. "But having worked with Tom Campbell-Gore for two years, a poisonous snake is small fry." Connie smiled at this, some of her uncertainty gradually leaving her. Seeming to have made up her mind, the snake slithered back down the steps and moved over to the bowl of water Ric had put out for her, which Connie noticed from this angle was out of sight. "You don't seem remotely bothered by her," Connie said, taking a grateful drag of her cigarette. "I'm not," Ric said succinctly. "She won't hurt you, unless you frighten her. I came out here one morning, and found her sound asleep on there," He said, gesturing to the wicker seat they'd been sitting on last night. "She's definitely the tamest snake I've ever seen. If she comes back, just refill the bowl with cold tap water. But don't go walking about in the long grass with bare feet, because I'm pretty sure that her nest is somewhere round here." Slightly shuddering at the thought of treading on a snake's nest in her bare feet, Connie assured him that she wouldn't. Picking up his car keys, Ric prepared to leave, saying that he probably wouldn't be back much before six, telling her to definitely find herself some shade for the hours in the middle of the day, and telling her to be careful. "You don't need to worry about me, you know," She said, a soft smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "I know," He said, gently kissing her, and then walking round the house to his car. 

Connie spent the morning sunbathing, until it became far too hot to be out in it any longer. It was incredibly soothing, she thought to herself, to quite literally have nothing to do but relax, sleep, and soak up the sun. No one was making demands on her time, and she could do precisely as she wished. It was really so rare that she was able to partake of such a luxury, that she found that she'd drifted away the morning with hardly a second thought. But around lunchtime, she went inside to find something to eat, and to pour herself a large glass of the bottled water that inhabited over half of Ric's fridge. He had warned her under no circumstances to drink the tap water, and even the ice cubes were made with the bottled variety. The rest of the fridge seemed to be filled with fruit, natural yoghurt and goat's milk cheese. Thinking that such a diet wouldn't do some of her heart patients any harm, she peeled and chopped a pineapple that was beginning to look extremely ripe, returned most of it to the fridge to be eaten later, and drizzled some natural yoghurt over what she intended to eat. As she ate the pineapple, she spared a thought to admit that it would be so easy just to stay here forever. She knew she had to go back home at some point, but that didn't mean she automatically wanted to go. But she was in limbo out here, she knew that, temporarily putting her life on hold, to give her the strength to deal with it again once she returned home. But did she want to deal with it? Jesus, she thought ruefully, that was a question and a half. She could see only too clearly why Ric had come here, because out here he didn't feel stretched to breaking point any more. She wished she knew what she was going to do about Michael. It wasn't just catching him in bed with Chrissie, because she knew that in time she could get over the humiliation of that little escapade. But she had absolutely no idea what she could possibly do about Michael's controlling influence. She couldn't go on like this, she was sure of that, but where did that leave her?

After eating the pineapple, Connie returned to the porch and relaxed into the long wicker seat, briefly thinking that she hadn't been quite so slothful for years. She was in the shade here, but she could still feel the air as if it bore the texture of a fur coat. She had just closed her eyes, wishing that she'd thought to bring some sunglasses with her, when she heard a faint hiss coming from somewhere near her feet. Sure enough, when she glanced down, there was the snake, lying with its head over the top step, as it had been this morning. Remembering what Ric had said about the snake smelling her fear, she tried her damnedest to suppress any feelings of apprehension or concern. The snake was looking at her, presumably wondering why this new person had come into her feeder's territory. If Connie hadn't known better, she would have sworn that the snake had a very disdainful look on its face, something akin to the way she usually looked at Zubin. It was a beautiful animal, nearly four feet in length and with very distinctive stripes along its back. "Are you thirsty?" Connie asked, not knowing where the verbal enquiry had come from, and privately thinking that she really must be losing her marbles. Going inside, she slipped on a pair of sandals, filled a jug with water, and went outside again to look for the bowl Ric had left out for the snake in the morning. She found it in the long grass by the house wall, and refilled it with water, stepping back to let the snake approach. Going inside and returning with a novel she'd thrown in her bag at the last minute, she sat down to read, but her attention was again distracted by the snake, who after drinking its fill from the bowl, had obviously decided to also take shelter from the sun's penetrating rays. She had crawled right up onto the porch, and was now settling down in a quiet corner, her coils slipping easily into place around her. She gave a long, drowsy hiss as she draped herself over the wooden floor, which could almost have been a sigh of contentment. "You're quite peaceful in a funny kind of way," Connie told her thoughtfully. "Michael would probably have me sectioned if he knew I was talking to a snake," She continued, the words seeming to flow out of her with such ease. "I bet Ric talked to you, didn't he. Ric always did have a penchant for living dangerously." The afternoon lazily drifted away as she read her book, and when the temperature dropped ever so slightly at around four thirty, though at first Connie didn't notice it, the snake left its shaded corner and moved out onto the scrubby grass in front of the steps, basking in the late afternoon heat, clearly lapping up every hint of the ultra-violet rays. Getting an idea, Connie went inside, removed her bikini, covered the entire front of her body with more sunscreen and insect repellent, wrapped herself in a towel and went back out side. Walking carefully passed the snake where she still lay on the grass, Connie walked down onto the sand, the scorching hot grains sliding between her toes. A little way down the beach, she found a discrete, half enclosed place where the overhanging rock would keep the sun off her face, leaving the rest of her body to bake. Hoping that this stretch of beach really was as private as it appeared to be, she slipped off her towel, spread it on the sand and lay down. Oh, god, that feeling of being positively bathed in the sun's rays. The blissfully intoxicating decadence of it immediately told her just why so many people were willing to risk skin cancer. 

When Ric returned at nearly six-thirty, he wasn't surprised to find Connie's note, saying that she was sunbathing a little way down the beach. Gratefully peeling off his clothes, he emerged wearing nothing but a pair of swimming shorts. Picking up his camera, he walked down onto the sand, and found Connie pretty quickly. She was lying on her back, her rich, honey-coloured skin turning a beautiful rosy gold. Her eyes were shut, and he thought she might be asleep. There was a book on the sand beside her, and she looked more relaxed than he'd ever seen her. But as he stood looking down at her, she lazily opened one sleepy eye. "Voyeurism is a hanging offence in this country, didn't you know?" Which was said in that delightfully husky drawl that always aroused him. "It would definitely be worth it," He said, unable to take his eyes away from her incredible body, displayed in all its glory. As she made a move to get up, he said, "Don't move, I'd like a picture of you." "Something to drool over when I've gone, I suppose," Connie said knowingly. "More like something to remember you by," He quietly corrected her, not remotely bothered by the jibe. After he'd taken a couple of snaps of her, she finally got to her feet, wrapping the towel around her again. "I'm going for a swim," He told her. "Care to join me?" "Mmm, definitely," She said with a yawn. "How far out do you go?" "You see that rock?" He said, pointing to an enormous out-crop of rock, sticking up out of the water. "How far is it?" "About a mile." "I don't se why not," She said, unwilling to admit that it was some considerable time since she'd swum so far. "Just let me put my bikini back on," She said as they walked towards the house. "I wouldn't bother," Ric told her. "It's a bit late for false modesty." "Yes, I suppose so," She said, thinking of all the deliciously naughty things he'd done to her last night. 

As they entered the water, it really did feel like a warm bath, the sun having heated it for the entire day. The water felt incredible, flowing over her naked body, the waves gently lifting her just like the embrace of a strong man. Jesus, she was getting soppy if she was having thoughts like that. She couldn't help but be impressed at Ric's powerful, flashy crawl, showing that he obviously came out here and did this every single day. The water became slightly cooler the further out they went, but it still felt like being in a lukewarm bath. Ric reached the rock before she did, and once out of the water, leant down to help her up, her naked, slippery body eventually lying against his chest. "God, I do feel decadent," She said contentedly, tasting the salt on Ric's skin as she dropped a kiss on his chest. "You certainly look it," He replied with a smile, his hand brushing some wet hair out of her face. "How was your day?" She asked, feeling almost unbearably sexy lying here with him like this. "Oh, you know how it is," He said mildly. "You win some, you lose some. A swim after a bad day, always seems to put everything back in perspective, and apart from the obvious, it's the best exercise there is." "I prefer the obvious any day," Connie said with a smirk, moving slightly further up the rock so she could kiss him. Their exploration was long and slow, both remembering their enjoyment of last night and this morning. "What did you do today?" He asked, when they eventually came up for air. "Absolutely nothing," She said with a smile. "And it felt wonderful. All I seemed capable of doing was sleep or read." "The heat gets you like that the first few days, if you're not used to it." "I even found myself talking to that blessed snake of yours around lunchtime." "She's a good listener," Ric said with a smile. "She doesn't continually ask me for money, she doesn't argue, and she doesn't try to offer me unwanted advice. You could say she's the perfect woman in many respects." "Oh, very funny," She said drolly, knowing that he was only teasing her. He began kissing her again, obviously in an attempt to make up for his remark. Breaking away from him a little while later, Connie said, "How can just being kissed, feel quite so erotic?" Ric laughed softly. "It's the setting more than anything else," He assured her, but began to allow his hands to wander, thinking that she might just enjoy an orgasm in the open air. As his hand slid over her breasts, gently teasing at her steadily hardening nipples, she stretched cat-like and groaned. "Mmm," She said luxuriously. "You really are most disgracefully bad." "And I always thought that was what you liked," He replied mockingly, as one of her legs curled itself round his, as she obviously sought the friction she needed. Trailing his hand down, he discovered just how aroused she was, her moistened flesh as hot and humid as the air around them. Connie couldn't believe she was lying here, on a rock with Ric, right out in the middle of the sea, being brought to orgasm just by his wonderfully skilful hand. She kissed him long and hard as she came, briefly imprisoning his hand between her thighs, as if unwilling to let it go. 

After swimming back to the beach, Ric went to take a shower, while Connie found them something for dinner. They had slipped into that happy, relaxed and contented way of being together, that neither of them could have expected before her appearance in Ghana. They both knew that it was only for a few days, so they both strove to make the most of it. Connie achieved an almost frightening depth to her suntan, caught up on an enormous amount of sleep, and allowed her brain to completely regroup. They went swimming every day when Ric returned from work, and made love when they went to bed at night, as well as at any other welcome opportunity. Connie felt entirely rejuvenated by her few days in the sun, and Ric felt an unwelcome longing to ask her to stay. But this was impossible, and they both knew it. Connie was very depressed on her last night, knowing that this was the last time she would sleep in his bed, be held in his arms, and be able to relax, entirely at ease with her self and her surroundings. 

"All good things must come to an end, Connie," He told her gently, as they sat on the porch on that last evening. "I know," She said regretfully, blowing a smoke ring up at the stars. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it." "Promise me something?" He said, knowing that he was treading on very thin ice with this one. "I don't do promises, Ric," Connie told him bleakly. "Because I am particularly bad at keeping them." "You can this one," He assured her. "Though it will take some effort to achieve it. When you go back, when you find yourself once again becoming involved in everything you've put on hold, try not to become bitter again, because you're far nicer without that outer shell." She was silent for a moment, his words having made her temperamentally speechless. "I'll try not to," She said eventually. "But I don't know how much I'll really succeed." There was an almost furious quality in their lovemaking that night, as though Connie was determined to imprint the memory of his touch on her soul. She desperately wanted him to consume her through and through, so that she might feel the branding of his passion on her for days afterwards. The weather seemed to sense her mood, the rain suddenly pouring down in a torrent, accompanied by thunder and lightning that seemed to rock the house, combined with the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. Ric could feel her need, her raging desire for every inch of her to know his touch, for him to somehow leave his mark on her. He'd have granted her almost anything that it was in his power to give that night, and when she asked him to be rough with her, he willingly obliged, seeing this as the only way she was prepared to express her real feelings. It was hard, it was rough, and it was furious, and when they at last lay exhausted, Connie's body was wracked with sobs. The almost primeval intensity of their lovemaking had given her the release she craved, and which she seemed to have been unable to achieve before now. In truth, Ric had been quietly waiting for this type of outburst from her, and he could now breathe a little easier that she had let herself go. She had badly needed to do this, to let out all the anger, all the feelings of helplessness that had sent her to him in the first place. Gently he held her, not saying anything, but softly stroking her hair, and running his hands tenderly over the shoulders he had gripped so tightly only moments before. Eventually, Connie cried herself to sleep, truly exhausted from both the sexual and the emotional release she had achieved. 

She was fairly quiet in the morning as they gathered her few possessions together, making no mention of her outburst of the night before. Connie didn't attempt to try to make small talk as they drove to the airport, because she knew it would only be a cover up for how she really felt. Ric seemed to sense her tension, and briefly took her hand in his as they waited at the traffic lights. But perhaps the worst moment for Connie, the ultimately heart-wrenching moment of pure anguish, came when she had to say goodbye to him. They stood with his hands on her shoulders, neither of them knowing what to say. "You might not want to hear this," Ric told her, eventually breaking the unbearably tense silence. "But I wish you weren't going." "So do I," She said, her voice slightly breaking with the tears that had risen to her eyes. Pulling her suddenly closer, he buried his face in her hair, taking in the combination of perfume and cigarette smoke that had become so familiar to him over the last few days. Her arms went up around his neck, and they stood there like that until the second announcement came for Connie's flight to board. "Promise me to take care of yourself," he told her, kissing her lingeringly just once more. "You too," She said, reaching down to pick up her bag. "Just so that you don't miss me too much," she said, trying rather unsuccessfully to lighten the situation. "I've left you something under your pillow." "Connie, write to me," He called after her, as she walked through the barrier and away from him. Sending him one of her winning smiles over her shoulder, she gave him a wave, more said in that small gesture than in a thousand words. 

Returning to the house with a heavy heart, Ric went to see what she had left him. Wrapped in a small note from her, was a tiny bottle of her perfume. Unstoppering the bottle, Ric breathed in that dry, sexy, incredibly erotic scent that was pure, one hundred percent proof Connie. Unfolding the note, he read the following words:

"If ever you're miserable, take a hit of this instead of your dope, and remember those few days that you made me truly happy." 


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five

It was about a fortnight since Connie had returned to England. It wasn't just her tan that people had noticed about her having been away, because it wasn't just her appearance that had changed. At a glance, Connie Beauchamp was the same as she ever had been, but should anyone choose to look that little bit closer, they would catch a glimpse of a wistfulness, a longing deep in her eyes to be somewhere else. This desire to be anywhere other than where she actually was, only surfaced when she thought nobody was looking, when her thoughts would stray back to that house by the beach where she'd been able to leave her life behind. She and Michael had lived a vaguely polite existence since her return from Ghana, only speaking to each other when absolutely necessary, and sleeping on the very edges of their bed at night, almost as though they were afraid of touching each other. Michael knew precisely where she'd been, because he had only needed to ask a couple of pertinent questions to find out. He could also sense her persistent longing to be back there, which didn't improve his mood in the slightest. 

So, this state of half awareness had gone on for just over two weeks, with Connie doing her job and nothing more. If Michael were otherwise engaged in the evenings, which were becoming more and more common these days, she would either find herself staying at work, or sitting at home, listening to the soppiest music imaginable. She knew she was being stupid, but she simply couldn't help it. Every night in her dreams she was back on that beach, or in that house, or in that bed, and it was always a bitter disappointment to wake up and find that she was really back in England. She was sitting at her desk on this particular Friday afternoon, going through the day's post with very little real enthusiasm. So much for a hot summer, she thought to herself, hearing the pattering of rain on the window. But as she reached for the next envelope in the stack, she was immediately flooded with the feelings of contentment that being in Ghana had produced in her. This letter, though it felt thicker than a letter, was from Ric, giving the return address of his little house on the beach where he'd briefly made her so happy. 

"Connie,

It's Thursday evening, and I'm sitting out on the porch, writing to you, and to Jess. It's funny, but this place has almost felt empty without you the last few days, even the snake keeps coming back to look for you. God knows what you talked to her about, but she must have found it comforting. 

Connie, I'm writing to you because I want to know that you're still alive, and though it might be a tall order, I would like to know that you're happy. You were extremely unhappy when you came out here to me, and I hadn't seen you so bewildered or thrown off course since Will died. I think you went away a little more together than you were when you arrived, though I'm also willing to bet that some things were made worse, not better. I don't regret a single minute of your time here, and I don't want you to either. Above all, Connie, I want you to know that should you need it in the future, your retreat is always here, in its entirety. We all need some form of retreat from time to time, and should you find further use for it, yours is here. 

The little reminder that you left for me is very much appreciated. The smell of a woman's perfume can conjure up so many memories, and this is no less so because of the unusual nature of your visit. I suspect you will read this, and want to tell me to grow up and stop being so adolescent, in fact I can hear you saying it, but my bed feels unsatisfactorily empty without you. I can remember every delicious thing I did to you while you were here, and I think the taste of every inch of your body is indelibly printed in my mind. Every time I swim out to the rock, I want to tell you about my day, and have you tell me about yours. 

I'm sorry, when I start to wax lyrical, I do get a bit carried away. To perhaps give you a fond reminder of your stay, I have enclosed some photographs, though if I were you, I wouldn't get them out at work. I can't do what you did, I can't capture the smell of the sea or the feel of the spray in a bottle, so I hope these will suffice. 

Connie, please take care of yourself,

Ric."

Only when the tap came on her office door, did Connie realise that she was crying. Flattening one hand over the letter and reaching for a tissue with the other, she bade the person to enter. It was Tricia who, on seeing Connie in such an unexpected state, came in and closed the door. "Connie, are you all right?" She asked, laying the patient files she'd brought with her on the desk. "Fine," Connie replied stonily, scrubbing at her face and not meeting Tricia's eyes. "Oh, and I'm still twenty-five," Tricia said disbelievingly. "What's happened?" "Tricia, do you ever wish that you were somewhere else?" Connie asked. "That you'd give absolutely anything to be anywhere but here?" "In this job, frequently," Tricia said with a smile. "Why, do you wish you were back in wherever you got that suntan?" "Stupid, isn't it," Connie said disgustedly, hardly unable to believe she was confiding in one of her staff. "No, it's not," Tricia said seriously. "We all need a dream, something we can work towards. If we didn't, I think we'd all give up." "I felt so different when I was out there," Connie said thoughtfully. "As though all the bad had miraculously gone out of me." "You went to see Ric, didn't you," Tricia said, quickly glancing at the envelope the letter had come in. "Yes," Connie replied, not remotely ashamed of it. "And it was the best few days I think I've ever had." "Can I read it?" Tricia asked, gesturing at the letter. Thinking that she'd probably already burned all her boats of respect from her subordinates, Connie handed it over. Sitting down in the chair in front of Connie's desk, Tricia read it in silence. 

"Ric always did have a way with words," Tricia said after reading it. "And he's right, we all do need a retreat, even if it's only in here," She added, gesturing to Connie's forehead. "Somewhere you can go when everything gets a bit much. When I was going through Chemo, I'd have gone insane if I hadn't had my own form of retreat to think about." "Oh, god, Tricia, I'm sorry," Connie said in abject contrition. "All I'm going through is an identity crisis, nothing compared to what you went through last year." "Everything's relative, Connie," Tricia told her gently. "Everyone finds different things easier to handle. You might be quite matter-of-fact over something like breast cancer, yet finding your husband in bed with my daughter, seems to have sent you right off the rails." "Did she tell you?" Connie asked ruefully, thinking that this was why she had always liked Tricia, her absolutely no nonsense approach to everything that came her way. "She didn't have to," Tricia replied with a sardonic smile. "I always know with Chrissie. She's just like her mother in some respects. Only it isn't just that, is it," She added kindly. "If I know anything about you, Connie, Chrissie's probably got very little to do with this. It's more about realising just how much Michael is prepared to use your position here, isn't it." "You're very perceptive," Connie said in surprise. "It's not exactly difficult to work it out," Tricia said gently. "You can see it a mile off." Connie was quiet, not really knowing what to say. Confiding in anyone, least of all another woman, was a completely new experience for her. God, just what had Ric reduced her to?

Seeing that Connie obviously didn't want to talk about Michael, Tricia reached for the envelope. "What pictures did he send you?" "I haven't looked," Connie said with a slight smile, grateful for the change in conversation. Removing the photographs from the envelope, Tricia first found a couple of shots of Ric's house. "I can definitely see why you didn't want to come back," She said, gazing at the house and a snapshot of the view out to sea. "All you can hear at night is the waves," Connie said almost dreamily. "It's almost as though you're on a desert island." The next picture Tricia drew out of the envelope brought a laugh from her. Swiftly taking it from her, Connie inwardly cursed Ric when she saw what it was. It was one of the ones he'd taken of her when she'd been sunbathing naked. Privately thinking that she looked incredible, sprawled so languidly on the sand, Connie turned it face down on the desk. The last picture was one of the snake, basking in the heat, and completely unaware that its image was being captured. "That snake adopted Ric because he gives her water," Connie explained. "It frightened the bloody life out of me the first time I saw it." "Trust Ric to live with something that could finish him off with just one bite," Tricia said ruefully. Then, turning serious again, she said, "Keep these pictures safe," She said, putting them and the letter back into the envelope. "Then, whenever everything gets too hard to cope with, take them out, and remember what it felt like to really be happy." Briefly touching Connie's hand, Tricia got up and left, privately thinking that Mr. Michael Beauchamp could certainly do with such stiff competition as Connie's retreat could obviously provide. 

A good while later when Connie left her office, she felt altogether more sorted out. She had to get on with her life, not continually lament what she didn't have. Besides, nothing was stopping her from taking Ric up on his offer any time in the future, and nothing was stopping her from sorting things out with Michael, one way or the other. As she walked down the corridor towards the lift, she was approached by Zubin. "Jess received a letter from Ric today," He said by way of a greeting. "I was wondering if she was the only one." "Trying to goad me, Professor Khan?" She asked him, seeing that he was clearly trying to make her feel left out. "Because you must admit, this is a pretty pathetic attempt at it. Yes, I did hear from Mr. Griffin today, and utterly enchanting photographs they were too." "Photographs of what?" Zubin asked, his curiosity outweighing his sense of forthcoming humiliation. "Well, now, wouldn't that be telling," She teased him, giving him a lazy wink to further fuel his inquisitive nature. But as she walked passed him, clearly meaning the conversation to be over, his voice accosted her. "Keep his bed warm out there, did you?" Glancing at him over her shoulder, she countered back with, "Everything is warm out there, Professor Khan. Beds, rocks, sandy beaches, even the sea itself feels like taking a bath. It's amazing the things you can do in the open air. You might almost say that it makes a bed in a Paris hotel bedroom seem really rather stayed." Leaving Zubin mouthing in fruitless antipathy, she strode away from him, inwardly vowing that from now on, her life belonged to her and her alone. Not Michael, not the board, but her. She didn't know how she would go about achieving such a monumental state of affairs, but she knew that Ric's long distance friendship would be there, to pick her up if ever she should fall. 


	6. Chapter 6

Part Six

As Connie walked in through her front door that same evening, her mind was made up. Never mind what it took, no matter how long she had to wait, she and Michael were going to talk. This ridiculous situation of polite silences and of being virtually afraid of one another's touch had gone on for quite long enough. She wasn't entirely sure what to expect from the coming conversation, but she supposed that at this stage, anything was worth a try. 

Michael was in the kitchen, in the process of opening a bottle of wine. "You're home early," He said in surprise, looking up as she appeared. "You're not complaining, are you," she countered back tiredly, hoping that she hadn't walked in on another of his assignations. "No, no," He assured her. "Just surprised, that's all." "I think we need to talk," Connie told him quietly, watching as he poured himself a glass, gesturing the bottle in her direction. "Please," She said in response, though thinking that a large scotch would probably put her in a far better frame of mind. As Michael followed her into the lounge, he raised an eyebrow as she retrieved a lighter and her packet of cigarettes. "I saw that you'd taken that up again," He said disapprovingly, obviously referring to the occasional ashtray she left until the next morning. "Please don't whinge," Connie said, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. "You have your vices, including screwing my staff, and I have mine." "You're not still going on about that, are you?" Michael said disbelievingly, not having thought she would be so jealous over such a trifle. "Michael, sleeping with one of my staff, made me feel unbearably small, which is I think why you did it. Quite what other reason could have persuaded you that breaking one of our few rules was a good idea, I couldn't possibly tell you." "Connie, you're making far too much out of this," Michael told her placatingly. "Yes, I realise that I shouldn't have slept with Chrissie, but what do you want me to say? She's an attractive woman, and she was ripe for the picking." "Rubbish," Connie told him scornfully, blowing a smoke ring at a painting above the fireplace. "Sister Williams is a nondescript, treacherous little bike, who delights in screwing up everyone else's marriages, just because she hasn't got one of her own. But she isn't worth my time or consideration," Connie added dismissively, taking a swig of her wine and then another drag of her cigarette, as though determined to flaunt her inadequacies in his face. 

"What I came home early to discuss, is you, and me." "Brought on by your trip to Ghana, I suppose," Michael said a little nastily. "So, you did find out where I went," Connie said, sounding thoroughly amused. "I thought you might. Give you a little moment of concern, did it?" "Hardly," Michael told her disgustedly. "Ric Griffin couldn't give you anything that you couldn't get from me." "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure," Connie mocked him, squinting at his asinine face through her cigarette smoke. "You like your material possessions too much," Michael replied confidently. "Whereas the likes of Ric Griffin could barely afford to clothe you, especially with your tastes. So, did you find what you were looking for out there?" "Yes," She said quietly, utterly stunning him into silence. "I found peace, the peace to get over my anger, and the peace to begin thinking about what I wanted from my life." Michael seemed to be temporarily floored by such a philosophical response from her, and he simply sat and watched as she continued. "I had absolutely nothing to do but sunbathe out there, not a state of being I think I've experienced for some years. No one was making any demands on my time, and nobody was asking anything from me that I didn't have the reserves to give. Having all that time to do nothing but think, allowed me to put a few things in perspective, your involvement in my career being one of them. Michael, I can't continue to work with you at such close quarters. You might think that your closely guarded methods of influencing my decisions haven't been noted, but they have, and not just by me. You might also think that by letting me get away with the odd bit of kingdom building, you can keep me sweet, but not any more." "Connie," Michael said a little dismissively, his power of speech returning to him. "You can't suddenly decide that you want to stop being the centre of the goldfish bowl, in order to play with the sharks instead." "Perhaps I can't," Connie replied a little icily. "But I can decide, that I don't want one, particularly malevolent shark anywhere near my goldfish bowl." "Really," Michael laughed scornfully. "I doubt it, because a mere Medical director, does not have the power to fire the chairman of the hospital board. Whereas, I can assure you, the opposite is entirely possible." "No way, Michael, you are not doing this to me again," She said angrily. "I don't care what it takes, but you will not hold my career over me every time you want to win an argument." "Connie, without me, you wouldn't have a career," Michael told her firmly. "And without me, you don't have a wife who makes you look like the most sexually precocious man in the world. You wouldn't like to lose that, now would you," she taunted him. "But I promise you, my career will always be in far less jeopardy than your marriage currently is. It would make you look a bit of a fool to lose me, wouldn't it, whereas any developing country would snap me up at the drop of a hat." 

In the ensuing silence, she watched as Michael's face turned redder and redder. She hadn't seen him this angry in a very long time, but even she could remember how easy it was to push all his buttons. "Griffin put you up to this, didn't he," Was Michael's eventual response. "No, he didn't," Connie told him acidly. "I am quite capable of thinking for myself. Ric was very sweet to me, though, a nice little word that I don't think you have ever known the meaning of. Even when he walked into his office, and found me sat at his desk, quite without having announced I was coming, he didn't even try to ask why I was there. I wouldn't have thought it possible of someone who has so few material possessions, but he really made me want to stay." "Connie, I have absolutely no interest in hearing about you and Griffin," Michael told her, turning his face away in utter disgust. "No, because even though you always get a kick out of telling me about your conquests, you never want to hear about mine," She replied stonily. "Well, no, I'll rephrase that. You only want to hear about them if they weren't any good. What's the matter? Are you afraid that now that I've spent a few days in Ric's company, you might not be able to get me going any more? That would be a fine piece of extremely sweet revenge for finding Sister Williams in my husband's bed, now wouldn't it." Michael briefly clenched his fist, the fury at her silkily crushing comments making him want to lash out at her, to shut that brutally taunting mouth once and for all. "Do you know why I think you're so angry with me?" Connie almost purred. "It's because this is the first time I've gone back for more, in the whole time we've been married." She conveniently ignored having slept with Mubbs more than once, because anything as pathetic as him really didn't count. "That's what scares the hell out of you, isn't it. Still, I think it's about time that you were faced with something of a challenge. It might teach you some professional and possibly sexual manners, though I doubt it." 

After taking a few slow deep breaths to calm himself down, Michael said, "So, is this how it's going to be?" "Absolutely right," Connie told him without missing a beat. "Either you lay off me at work, and confine your trust duties to the absolute minimum, or I'm out of here, because I am no longer prepared to put up with your continual manipulation, or your utter disregard for how I appear in the eyes of my staff. Just remember this, if you ever, and I mean ever, make me look a fool in front of the board again, or bring one of my staff into this house, your days of being married to one of the leading cardio thoracic surgeons in the country, shall be numbered. Do I make myself quite clear?" "Connie, what possible reason could I have for wanting to agree to your terms? As you previously implied, spouses are almost instantly replaceable." "Well now, you wouldn't want it known among all your colleagues, that I'd found someone far more able to satisfy my every need, now would you." Again, Michael had to fight the urge to hit her. He couldn't believe this, his Connie, his wife, was sitting here, bargaining with him over his future behaviour towards her, when it was she who had spent nearly a week in some other man's bed. "Hmm, I thought that would make you give in," She said, getting to her feet, and going into the kitchen for more wine, and wondering just how long he would stick to it. Connie couldn't really say that she'd solved anything, because she wasn't remotely convinced that it would last, but she'd had to try something. But was Michael right? Was she trying to win a game she hadn't been trained to play? Only time would tell. 


	7. Chapter 7

Part Seven

It was now Christmas Eve, over five months since Connie had returned from Ghana, and it seemed that very little had changed. The hospital was moving along in its usual, reliable fashion, especially now that Connie's iron grip on her staff had somewhat slackened. They had all noticed it, one way and another, the way her bitterly manipulative control had decreased, the way she appeared perfectly happy to simply let them get on with it. She no longer tried to run every single department like one of the sovereign states of her own private empire, but accepted that her colleagues were better left to manage their own people wherever possible. Connie wasn't happier as such, just quieter, more introspective, as though shouting at people really wasn't important to her any more. They had most of them also noticed the distinct absence of Michael, except on the few occasions he was forced to appear at hospital board meetings. The only person impolite enough to comment on this had been Zubin, who had been given pretty short shrift by Connie herself, who wasn't remotely prepared to give him any sort of explanation. With regards to her home life, Connie couldn't exactly say that things had improved, or that they'd even gone back to their old familiar pattern of before her trip to Ghana. She and Michael seemed to spend more and more of their time apart, only coming together in their bed at night for the occasional touch and go, mainly because Connie thought she should. She knew that her stay with Ric had severely tested Michael's pride, and that he had always been far more jealous of her series of away fixtures, than she ever had of his. 

But now here they were, on the eve of one of the worst days of the year, and Connie was beginning to wonder if she really had changed all that much. Lola, with the voice that could be heard over at least three continents, had finally questioned her authority once too often. "Dr. Griffin," Connie told her icily, as they faced each other not far from the nurse's station. "Would you care to remind me precisely who runs this ward?" "You do, Chief," Lola told her blithely, clearly ignoring the far too evident danger signals in Connie's tone. "but..." "And as you are a mere registrar, and unlike myself, have not had contact with this particular patient for the last six months, do you consider that your level of experience gives you the right to question my judgment on this matter?" "Probably not," Lola admitted with a warm smile. "But..." "Then will you kindly leave this decision in my more than capable hands," Connie finished exasperatedly. "My grandma always said that two minds can think better than one," Lola put in brightly, causing the slowly gathering audience to hold in their laughter at Connie's reaction. Putting her hands over her eyes, Connie resisted the childish urge to stamp her foot in frustration. "Lola," She said, visibly trying to massage the growing headache from her own temples. "Current medical practices, neither have the time, nor the inclination, to accommodate every shred of family wisdom that you see fit to present me with. So please, can you leave memories of grandma at home, where they belong?" Taking a breath to argue her point, Lola clearly saw something in Connie's face that changed her mind. But as she turned to walk away, she caught side of someone standing by the lift, clearly having observed the entire scene, the rueful half smile on his face, showing that this was precisely what he had expected to see. "Eric," Lola said in surprise, not having expected to see him back here again. Spinning on her heel, Connie took in his casually dressed form, standing leaning against the wall as though waiting for the two of them to finish their row. Tricia, Chrissie, Donna and Lisa, they were all there to witness the look of pure happiness that briefly rose to Connie's face. Seeing this blatant sign of pleasure from Connie, Donna found herself wondering if the mistletoe she'd put in Connie's office might actually get to do its job. 

"Mr. Griffin," She said, the smile snapping off as she walked towards him, as though her face suddenly remembered that it had an audience. "This is a nice surprise. To what do we owe the pleasure?" "I'm staying with Jess for Christmas," He told her, also aware of their collective scrutiny by what felt like everyone he'd ever worked with. "Spending a few days in the constant company of Professor Khan?" Connie said with a little smirk that only he understood. "Sounds like my worst nightmare." Ric laughed, her comment successfully breaking the ice. He had kept in touch with Connie, having exchanged several letters with her over the last few months, but he hadn't told her that he was coming to England for Christmas. He had wanted to surprise her, and it appeared that his moment of romantic insanity had worked. "Do you have to be somewhere?" She asked quietly. "Or can I have your undivided attention for a little while." "I'm all yours," He told her very quietly, taking advantage of the steady resumption of chatter. Ric's words, uttered in that deep, gravelly voice, gave Connie the first vagaries of sexual feeling that she'd had in months. It was as though his voice went straight to her core, reminding her of every delicious touch she'd received from him in Ghana. Thinking that she was probably incapable of forming a coherent sentence in this highly adolescent state, she turned and led the way to her office, naturally assuming that he would follow her. Tricia gave him a smile as he walked after Connie, making Ric wonder just how much she knew. 

When Connie closed the door of her office behind them, she turned to face him. "You didn't tell me you were coming," she said, allowing a warm smile to return to her face. "I wanted to surprise you," He said, feeling a little stupid. "Well, you can be assured that it's made my day," She told him without hesitation, inwardly marveling at how his mere presence could bring forth such closely held confidences from her. Gently putting his hands on her shoulders, Ric scrutinized her. If he wasn't much mistaken, she was thinner than when he'd seen her last, with definitely not enough colour in her cheeks, showing that all her time was being spent either in theatre or in this office. She had dark shadows under her eyes, telling him more than any words that she hadn't been getting anywhere near enough sleep. "You look tired," He said quietly, wishing that in all those letters she'd written, she had really told him how things were between her and Michael. "I've just been working a lot, that's all," She said, inwardly cursing the tears that rose to her eyes at his concern. It seemed so long since anyone had noticed something so insignificant about her. She could feel his hands on her shoulders, as though they were branding her, and the heat of his far too near body that was calling to her to cling to it, to again be close to the man who had given her that brief haven of peace. "I've missed you," She said, her voice a little unsteady with the strength of her feelings. "Hey," He said, pulling her to him, and catching sight of the tears in her eyes. "I didn't come back here to make you cry." "I'm sorry," She said, feeling utterly stupid. "You're right, I am tired." They stood close for a while, his cheek resting on her hair, taking in every familiar aspect of her. It was funny, how he had learnt so much about her in those few days, all the little quirks of her body, from the mole on her left shoulder, to the way her hair always gave away her addiction. "I see you're still smoking," He admonished gently, breathing in the evidence of her habit from the strands that tickled his face. "That's your fault," She said into his shoulder. "How can it be my fault?" He asked, a broad smile creasing his face. "It's that particularly bad influence you have on me," She assured him cheekily. "You were bad long before I met you," He said, sounding so sure of himself that it made her laugh. 

Then, glancing up at something that caught his eye, Ric asked, "Whose idea was that?" Gesturing up at the bunch of mistletoe that hung from the ceiling above their heads. "Oh, I think it was Donna's," Connie said with a smile. "A couple of days ago, she and Lisa suspended hostilities long enough to go round putting bunches of mistletoe in every consultant's office. They seemed to think that doing it while I was in a board meeting, would mean that I wouldn't be aware of the identity of the culprit." "Nothing changes round here, does it," Ric said ruefully, thinking that at this time of year especially, some of the nurses really did act just like over eager school children. "What amazes me, is why you expect anything to change," Connie almost purred, her eyes lingering on his, caressing the windows to his soul, just as her hands had touched his body all those months ago. When their lips eventually met, it was as though a spark had been relit, after months of being dormantly asleep. Connie felt the immediate surge of feelings inside her, as though her own sexual arousal had been dormant for months as well, which she supposed in a way, it had. She might have occasionally slept with Michael over the last few months, but that didn't mean she'd really enjoyed it. Her jibe to Michael back in July had been right, having slept with Ric for that small, though very concentrated amount of time, she now couldn't be fully aroused by Michael's touch any more. 

Ric had pulled her even closer to him if that were remotely possible, and her arms went up around his neck, her fingers tangling in the soft, thick hair. He could feel her nipples hardening against his chest, his own arousal also beginning to make its presence felt. "Have you missed me that much?" He said with a smirk, bringing one hand up to gently tease at her left breast. "No more than you've clearly missed me," She said, moving her thigh up against him. "That at least is predictable," He said, in dismissive acceptance of his body's usual behaviour. "When might Jess be expecting you?" Connie asked, hardly able to concentrate with his silkily wandering hand moving over her still covered skin. "Not until eight," He told her, glancing at his watch to see that it was only just after six. "Then if you have no objection," Connie said with a gasp, as his fingers moved over her already erect nipple. "I need you, here, now." "That's what I've always liked most about you," He told her, moving them over towards the sofa. "The way you're not afraid of saying precisely what you want." "I wouldn't get anywhere if I was, now would I," she said with a laugh, briefly detaching herself to start the CD playing on her computer, to provide some soft background music. "I can't exactly promise that I'll be able to be quiet," She said in explanation, sinking down onto the sofa beside him, as Ric reached over to lock the door. "And I don't like being disturbed," He told her, recapturing her mouth in a blissful exploration of familiar territory. 

When he felt her undoing the buttons of his shirt, he moved to undo her own, exposing her beautifully sculptured cleavage encased in a simple cream lace bra. Her nipples were poking at the flimsy material, begging to be caress by his skilful fingers. As her blouse was cast aside along with his shirt, he reached round and unfastened the clasp of her bra, her breasts falling warm and ripe into his hands, as soft and inviting as the sun drenched apricots he so often ate at home. As he pushed her gently back on the sofa, reaching for the button of her skirt, her hand moved to his belt, as eager as he was for them to be skin to skin once again. When he finally lay on the sofa with her, holding her beautiful naked body in his arms after so long, he took a moment to revel in the feeling of being with her again. Ric had desperately tried to put Connie out of his mind after she'd gone, other than on a basic level of friendship, but he knew he had been kidding himself. So often in those long lonely nights, he had woken from dreams of her, thinking that she was back in his bed, back where he knew she belonged. Remembering her curt dismissal all too well from the year before, when he had tried to get to know her after their little exploration at the end of her very first day, he didn't want to put any pressure on her by telling her how he really felt. But now here he was, holding her in his arms again, and about to make love to her, and Connie wasn't just accepting the situation, she was part of it, wanting it just as much as he did. But as his hands began reacquainting themselves with every deliciously proportioned curve, he again found himself thinking that she really had lost weight, and a little too much if he was any judge. She was doing the same to him, her hands spanning the muscles of his chest, gently tugging at the coarse black hairs, which made him laugh, and eventually descending to the considerable erection that rose to greet her. But before her hand could begin moving on him in earnest, one of his crept between her slightly spread legs, causing them to widen even more in delight. "You really are pleased to see me," He said with pleasure, as he discovered just how aroused she already was. "You're not kidding," she said, her kisses deepening as he slid three fingers inside her liberally lubricated warmth. "I..." She stopped, feeling a little embarrassed at what she'd been about to tell him. "What?" He asked between kisses, his thumb grazing back and forth over her clitoris. "I haven't been as wet as that since Ghana." "Oh?" He said, clearly a little mystified as to why. "Listen to you, Mr. distinct lack of ego," She told him with a broad smile. "It's because you were so incredible." "That's nice to know," He said, feeling his spirits soar even higher than they were already. "Though I'm sorry if it's made things difficult over the last few months." "Well, I suppose that's the downside of being something of a tart," She said philosophically. "Finding that one's husband is no longer good enough." "I wish you wouldn't refer to yourself like that," He admonished her gently. "It neither suits you, nor is it a remotely accurate description of you." "Okay, calm down," She said dismissively. She had been about to say more, but as his fingers found her G spot, she was forced to clamp her mouth shut in order to avoid crying out, and telegraphing to the entire ward what they were doing. 

Not long after, she inched her leg underneath his, urging him to move over her. As he slid inside her, they both felt as though they were coming home. Connie clung to him, her legs and arms holding him tightly to her, just for that stretch of time revealing the true extent of her need for him. When she'd woken up this morning, she never could have dreamt that she'd be feeling his long, slow, penetrating thrusts by the end of the day, taking her closer and closer to the orgasm she'd been searching for ever since she'd returned home from Ghana. He could feel her need, her intense desire to keep him with her forever, and it warmed his heart. She hadn't said as much, but she had clearly been craving his touch just as much as he had hers. When they simultaneously came, he had to cover her mouth with his in order to swallow the cry that came from her with absolutely no thought to their surroundings. He lay with his face against her neck, both of them breathing hard. He made a move to withdraw from her, but she tightened her hold on him, as though afraid he might leave her altogether. Thinking that she wouldn't want his full weight resting on her, he turned them onto their sides, his softened self slipping out of her, but still resting snugly between her slender thighs. 

They lay for a long time afterwards in almost perfect silence, with only the soft piano music on the CD, plus the occasional sounds from the ward to penetrate their afterglow. Connie felt warm, drowsy and entirely content. She was here, in her nice warm office, lying on her sofa in Ric's arms, after the most fantastic sex she'd had in months. What more could a girl ask for? Following the pattern of the music, Ric deftly played his fingers over her rich, glowing skin, and occasionally kissed her. They didn't need to speak, all their words having been exchanged by the infinitely more accurate medium of touch. But eventually, Ric knew that their time must come to an end. Lifting his arm from where it rested over Connie's bare shoulders, he glanced at his watch, to see that it was after seven-thirty. "I've got to go," He told her regretfully. "I wish you didn't have to," She found herself saying, the words slipping out before she could think better of them. "I'm sure I can manage to see you again while I'm here," He promised her with a smile. "I'm sorry," She said, trying to rouse herself, back into her usual controlled state. "This has just been the nicest day I've had for a long time, that's all." "It is for me too," He assured her. "Something of an early Christmas present you might say." "It's the best one I'll probably get this year," She agreed, as they got up from the sofa and began putting their clothes on. "I've got the undeniably dubious pleasure of entertaining Michael's parents tomorrow, which involves putting on the act of a perfect marriage. It'll be a farce, but then I suppose that's what Christmas is all about." "Whereas I'll have the joys of seeing Zubin playing happy families with my daughter," Ric said ruefully. "But that's the price you pay for having too many children, I suppose." "Ric, I wouldn't have missed this for the world," She told him, as they again stood close to each other under the mistletoe. "No, nor would I," He replied gently, kissing her long and hard, because he didn't know how long it had to last before he saw her again. "I wouldn't say no to the odd phone call over the next couple of days," She said evasively, not wanting him to think she was desperate for his attention. "I'm sure I can manage that," He replied with a smile, thinking that getting one over on Michael Beauchamp would definitely be worth the risk. 


	8. Chapter 8

Part Eight

When Connie reached home, she groaned when she saw that Michael's car was already in the drive. He would want to know what had kept her so late on Christmas Eve of all nights, and she knew that the evidence was far too plain to see, if he cared to look for it. All her lipstick had been kissed off, and she did look a little disheveled. She let herself through the front door, and heard the pop of a cork as he opened a bottle of wine in the kitchen. He always seemed to be doing that these days, she realised, the sound of the popping cork often greeting her as she entered the house. 

"You're back late," He called as she moved towards the stairs. "No later than usual," She countered back, not wanting to see him before she'd had a bath, removing all traces of Ric from her body. "It is Christmas Eve, Connie, or had you forgotten." Tempted to tell him that her Christmas had come early this year, she said, "Oh, you know how it is, there was a pile up with a couple of serious chest traumas to deal with. The party season and too much alcohol, I've no doubt," She added, thoughtfully eyeing the glass of Burgundy he had in his hand. "I'm going to have a bath," She told him, beginning to walk up the stairs, desperately trying to avoid his scrutinizing gaze. "Do you want a glass of this?" he asked, watching her speculatively. "Yes please," She replied, happy to get him off the subject of her whereabouts. 

As she waited for the bath to fill with hot, steamy, scented water, she flicked on the stereo on the dressing table, currently containing Chris de Burgh. None of her colleagues would ever suspect that their feisty Medical Director liked such soppy music, but after a long, hard day, it often provided the perfect accompaniment to a good soak in the bath, followed by some leisurely screwing in the enormous four-poster bed in the centre of the room. Slowly removing her clothes, and discarding them in the laundry basket, she stood and looked at herself critically in the mirror. Ric had said that she looked tired, and now, taking in her every feature, she supposed he was right. She hadn't been getting enough sleep, or enough food lately, and it was definitely beginning to show. Yet, Ric had still found her attractive, beautiful even, certainly arresting enough to capture his attention for a couple of hours. As she ran her hands over her silky soft skin, the words of the song on the CD caught her attention, stilling her hands in their tracks. 

"Well, God's not around, and look what I've found. This one's mine!"

Spanish Train, the story of the Lord and the devil playing poker for the souls of the dead. The thought occurred to her that she was in the middle of an equally dangerous game. Was Ric the good guy, and Michael taking the guise of the devil? And were they about to have a mindlessly macho gamble over her soul? God, it made her shiver to think of it. She had no doubt that Ric was an expert at poker, but how often had he lost? The Lord in this story always lost, because the devil always cheated. Did Michael's being her husband give him something of a head start in this fight for her soul? As Connie moved into the bathroom and switched off the taps, she spared a thought to hope that her soul would still be alive by the end of it. Fight over her they might, but not for any man would she become a soul of the dead. 

Having arranged to meet Zubin at the end of his shift, Ric walked out to the car park after leaving Connie's office, finding his old friend waiting in his car reading the evening paper. "No guesses as to where you've been," Zubin said as Ric opened the passenger's door. "Just catching up with a few friends," Ric told him evasively. "So, was Connie pleased to see you?" Zubin asked, putting the car in gear and pulling out into the stream of traffic. "Yes, I think so," Ric replied, not quite able to hide a smile. Several highly uncomplimentary names ran through Zubin's mind for Ric, but he didn't utter any of them. They had agreed to this uneasy truce for Jess's sake, and so that Ric could finally meet his first grandchild. Six months apart seemed to have done their friendship the world of good, giving it a long overdue airing. "You can say it, you know," Ric told him kindly, realising the direction Zubin's thoughts had strayed into. "What?" Zubin spared him the briefest of glances. "You can voice your opinion on me and Connie. You would have done in the old days, so I'm not expecting you to withhold it now." "Is there a you and Connie?" Zubin asked, trying to take Ric's olive branch in the manner in which it was intended. "I'm not sure," Ric said truthfully. "She's unhappy with Michael, but then who wouldn't be. She didn't want to come back from Ghana, and we've been writing to each other ever since. I don't know how much more there is to it." "You've done with Connie, what you always do with women, haven't you," Zubin said almost fondly, remembering all of Ric's previous scrapes that he'd been privy to. "What do I always do with women?" Ric asked with a broad smile. "Besides marry too many of them." "You fall hook, line and sinker for them, and always when they've got problems like husbands or unresolved exes tagging along behind them." "Oh, says he," Ric threw back with a laugh. "Do I need to remind you about Caroline Dewer? That was her name, wasn't it?" "She was different," Zubin said quickly, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. "Yes, she was, very different," Ric said dryly. "She was a prostitute. Connie might be married, but at least there isn't a whole diary of clients to fight my way through." Zubin was about to say that sometimes you might just wonder, when they arrived in front of the house he now shared with Ric's daughter. 

As Connie lay in the bath, the music washing over her, she closed her eyes, and drifted in that twilight state between sleeping and waking. It wasn't just the sex that had tired her out, because she usually had far greater stamina than that, but it was her emotional reaction to seeing Ric again. She had also tried to banish any growing feelings towards him, because she knew that she could never really act upon them, not beyond the regular letters and the possibility of a rendezvous once a year. She caught her breath at the words of the next song to pierce her thoughts, because they brought forth a whole load of unanswerable questions. 

"Is it real, what I feel? Is it love?"

No, she thought to herself, she didn't love him, did she? Connie didn't think so, but then she wasn't entirely sure that she'd ever really known what love was. She and Michael very rarely said it, because it was a word that made them both feel especially vulnerable. Michael wasn't even one of those men who said it to try and win an argument, or to try and make up with her when he'd upset her, not that she ever let him see. Connie only ever allowed Michael to see her anger, never her pain. That made her begin to wonder why she didn't let him see her real feelings most of the time. Was it because she was terrified of handing him even more of the trump cards? Or was it because she simply didn't trust him to respect them? A bit of both, she supposed. But where did that leave her with regards to Ric? Sexually, they clicked impeccably well. Where ideals were concerned, she wasn't sure. She knew that they had both come into the medical profession because they wanted to save lives, but somewhere along the line, her ideals and hopes for the future appeared to have changed. But again, wasn't that more Michael's doing than her own?

"I stumble on my words, and all the things I want to say come out wrong. I am lost in a dream, I know this is more than it seems..."

That was something she had never done, Connie thought in fond amusement, stumble on her words. Her voice was a tool, the purring of a contented cat, or the hiss of an angry snake, whichever suited the situation most. Taking in a deep breath of the aroma surrounding her, Connie again moved her hands over her voluptuous body, trying to make herself believe that she wasn't in the bath in her house, but in the gently rocking, sun warmed sea near Ric's house. She could remember his hands sliding over her in that water, his delicate surgeon's fingers tracing every inch of her body. Her nipples hardened under her ministrations, as she slipped one hand beneath the water, to do to herself what he had done only a couple of hours earlier. 

"All I want is this diamond in the dark, to begin what must be." 

Was Ric her diamond in the dark? Well, he was certainly the only hint of light she had in her life these days, appearing mostly in her dreams when she slept at Michael's side. As though the thought of Michael had conjured him up, Connie's eyes snapped open, and she whipped her hand almost guiltily from between her legs. There he was, looking down at her, with a look of thoughtful speculation on his face. "Thinking of something nice, were you?" He asked, putting the glass of red wine down on the corner of the bath. She was about to answer, though with what, she couldn't quite say, when he kept on going. "It would be nice if you were thinking about your husband for a change, but I suspect that would be too much to ask." Connie stared at him. It wouldn't be that difficult for him to work it out, especially if he'd somehow found out that Ric was back in the country. Besides, Michael hadn't ever felt guilty about his dalliances, so why the hell should she? "I wasn't actually thinking about anyone," She told him firmly, focusing on her thoughts of the sea, not who had been submerged in the water with her. "Really," Michael said disbelievingly, turning on his heel and walking out of the bathroom. Suddenly not feeling like the leisurely soak she had planned, Connie knocked back the wine, scrubbed herself all over and got out of the bath, feeling bitterly fed up that Ric wasn't there with her instead. 

Later that night, as she lay stiffly on her side of the bed, praying that Michael wouldn't reach for her, a line from the song about the poker playing adversaries came back to her, chilling her to the bone by its implication. 

"The devil let out a mighty shout, my hand wins!" 


	9. Chapter 9

Part nine

Connie was tired, the effort of having to maintain the act in front of Michael's parents having worn her down. They had finally gone in the early evening, and she and Michael had cleared up pretty much in silence. Connie's thoughts were anywhere but where she actually was, and she was highly aware that Michael could sense this. As part of her introspection, Connie's thoughts strayed back to last Christmas, to last Boxing Day to be specific, when she had been fighting for the life of her patient, and Ric had talked her out of the horrific maze of that awful fire. Why did virtually every thought she had today come back to Ric in one way or another? Was this the testament to just how much he had crept under her skin without her realising it? Smiling slightly to herself, she wondered how he was getting on with Jess and Zubin. Having a six-month-old baby in the house wouldn't allow for much sleep, and she could just imagine Ric thinking that he really was getting too old to be woken up by a screaming baby at all hours of the night. 

She came back to the present, however, when she realised that Michael was speaking to her. "Do you want a top up?" He asked, waving the bottle of red wine in her direction. "Please," She replied absent mindedly, putting the last plate away in the cupboard. When she sank gratefully down onto the sofa and lit a cigarette, Michael handed her the glass of wine and eyed her critically. "I wish you wouldn't do that," He said, fanning away the smoke. "And I wish you wouldn't drink so much," Connie countered back. "But as it's Christmas, I'm not going to hassle you about it. Besides," She added after taking a drag. "I haven't had one all day. I wouldn't want to give your mother something else to hold against me, now would I." "She's just disappointed about not being a grandmother yet, that's all." "Tough," Connie said succinctly. "It's about time she accepted that we're not that kind of couple." "We could be, if only you'd stop putting your career and every other man in the universe before your marriage," Michael said bitterly. "And the only reason you want me stuck at home raising a couple of kids," Connie responded defiantly. "Is so that you can control my every move. I've also no doubt that becoming a father would probably improve your political career, but you're not doing it at the expense of the thing I do best, which I can assure you, certainly isn't taking care of children." "Oh? So is the thing you do best operating or screwing these days?" Michael asked sarcastically. "Both," Connie told him firmly, blowing a smoke ring up at the high ceiling. "You did both yesterday, didn't you," He said, finally getting his suspicions out into the open. "That's why you came home late, looking like all your Christmases had come at once." "And can you give me one even vaguely sensible reason why I shouldn't?" Connie asked icily. "After all, I should imagine that one or more of your secretaries didn't quite escape unscathed." "It would hardly matter," Michael responded acidly. "If you'd shown the slightest interest in me in the last few months. But oh, no, it's been every excuse in the book, hasn't it, and even when you do see fit to sleep with your husband, you can't even have the decency to enjoy it." "And would you prefer that I faked it?" Connie asked with a laugh. "Because I'm sure it could be arranged, though I wouldn't really want to give you the false satisfaction, of thinking I had enjoyed it. It's hardly my fault that men are so predictable." "Connie, what has Ric Griffin got that I haven't?" Michael asked, now sounding more than a little petulant. "Do you really want to know?" Connie asked with a laugh. "Because it would take me literally hours to tell you." "I doubt it," Michael said dismissively, unwilling to believe what she was saying. "You see," Connie said, taking a swig of her wine. "I might have only spent two hours with Ric yesterday, but he managed to make me feel more alive than I have done since I returned from Ghana. Do you know something? He can arouse me so thoroughly in such a short space of time, that I was practically dripping inside five minutes, something that certainly hasn't happened with you for a very long time. He reminded me what it was like to really feel wanted, not just as a marital standby for when your secretaries are refusing to come up with the goods, not that I blame them. I could have Ric all day every day, and still find everything he does to me the most exhilarating feeling I've had in months." "Do you have any idea just how much of a whore you sound?" He asked her incredulously, not wanting to hear any more of Ric Griffin's particular expertise. "You used to like calling me a whore," Connie said quietly. "Before I became one, that is. But you don't like it now, do you? You used to like the thought of sleeping with a whore, because it was just one of those names that you wanted to call me at the point of orgasm. Yet as soon as I started living up to that epithet, you began wanting me to curb the sexual excesses you married me for. You can't have it both ways, Michael. You can't have any number of paying or non-paying women of your own, and expect me to limit myself to satisfying your every need. We both know that the only reason you agreed to the deal was because you weren't prepared to give up the women, and you knew I would find out about them if you'd said you had. You also lived under the mistaken belief that I couldn't ever find anyone who could give me something better." "Griffin, better?" Michael said in total disbelief. "He's older than me for a start." "Oh, you wouldn't think it," Connie drawled with a low, husky laugh. "He can rise to the occasion whenever required to, and he wouldn't dream of having his pleasure before I'd had mine, at least once. What, don't you like me pointing out just where you've been going wrong?"

"Connie," Michael almost crooned, sitting down on the sofa beside her, and clearly having decided to try another tack. "I don't want to argue with you, not today." "Fine," Connie replied curtly, reaching forward to stub out her cigarette in the ashtray. "You started it, I was just keeping up with you." She stiffened slightly when he put an arm around her, but tried not to flinch away from his touch. "Why not let me show you how good it used to be?" He suggested, his hand slipping down to cup her right breast. "I bet I could make you forget about Ric Griffin in a heartbeat." "When you've sobered up, I might just think about it," Connie told him coldly, removing his hand from her breast. "But not before. I have absolutely no desire to sleep with someone, who will most likely be incapable of lasting longer than five minutes, if you could get there at all, which after the amount you've been putting away, I highly doubt." "There was a time," Michael said icily, his hand tightening on her collar, as though he meant to choke her. "When a man wouldn't have to virtually beg his wife for what she used to give him by choice." "And there was also a time, when this particular wife used to find her husband almost unbearably desirable," Connie countered back, not liking the look of intense anger in his eyes. "But it seems that those days have passed." "Connie, why won't you let me prove to you that I'm a much better lover than Griffin?" "Because I know that you're not," She answered him immediately, inwardly kicking herself because she could see that she was really pushing her luck. "Prove it," He goaded her, clearly determined not to relinquish the argument. "Michael," Connie insisted vehemently. "I'm not sleeping with you today, tomorrow, not ever, if you keep on drinking as much as you have been. It makes you even more bitter and morose than usual." "And can you blame me?" He asked in total disgust. "You barely want me near you any more." "Oh, don't be so pathetic," Connie threw back, now really beginning to lose her cool. "You know something, Michael, you used to be a real man, not the sniveling, pitiful wreck you are today." 

When the palm of his hand struck her cheek, she recoiled in shock. Never, not in all their years of rows and making up, had he ever raised his hand to her. "And you think that makes you a real man, do you?" She demanded, her somewhat more moderate alcohol consumption having completely removed her sense of danger. "You used to like it rough," He leered back at her. "Rough perhaps, but I don't usually go in for acquiring bruises," She retorted acidly. "But then I should have known you'd one day resort to something like this, because you just loathe not getting your own way, don't you." "So says the master, or should I say mistress, of manipulation," he countered back furiously. "I haven't ever resorted to violence to achieve my ends," She insisted vehemently. "Well, it appears that I might be able to achieve something over Mr. Griffin after all then, doesn't it. I bet he wouldn't have the guts to put his wife in her place, probably why he lost so many of them." "Don't you ever refer to Ric and yourself in the same breath ever again," Connie almost shouted. "He knows the meaning of that little word respect." 

This time, when his fist crashed into her face, she audibly gasped, tasting the blood from where his signet ring had cut her lip. But it seemed that this had been one jibe too many. Holding onto the collar of her blouse with his left hand, Michael used his right one to relentlessly lay into her. She could feel the blood from her nose run down onto her blouse, but while he still had hold of her, she could do nothing to stop it. The second time his fist caught her just under her left eye, she felt sure that she would have trouble seeing out of it in the morning. She tried to detach herself from what he was doing, but this only seemed to enrage him further. But realising that he wasn't about to get bored of what he was doing, she momentarily surprised him by pushing violently at his chest, briefly getting him away from her, allowing her to get up from the sofa, and move almost blindly towards the door. She had no idea where she was headed, except that she needed to get away from this alcohol-enraged monster who appeared to have discovered a new pastime. But she wasn't quick enough for him. Michael was fuelled with a mixture of anger, alcohol and extreme sexual desire for her, a lethal combination that not even Connie could fight. Grabbing her by the shoulder, he whirled her round to face him. "I think it's about time I taut you a lesson," He said, his fist crashing into her ribs. "I think you need reminding just who is boss in this marriage." As she struggled to get away from him, leaning towards the coffee table to grab anything to ward him off, he pushed her to the floor, her outstretched arm catching her half full wineglass, knocking it to the carpet. As she fell, she felt the glass splinter under her weight, the shards being ground into her arm as Michael descended on top of her. When he began roughly tearing at her clothes, she realised just what he had in store for her. "No, you wouldn't, you wouldn't dare," She said almost desperately, unwilling even now to believe that he would go to such lengths just to prove a point. "Seeing as you won't give me what is due to me voluntarily, I don't have much choice, do I," He replied, foregoing the undoing of her blouse, by simply ripping it down the centre, buttons flying in all directions. "A real man wouldn't need to do this," She taunted him, unwilling to give up even at this late stage, receiving a particularly vicious squeeze to her right breast as a result. But she couldn't just let him do this, no way! She struggled with him, lying between the coffee table and sofa as they were, trying with all her might to push him away. But the more she fought, the more his fist connected with her ribs, and the more his weight firmly rested on her unyielding thighs. Seeming to have eventually had quite enough of her struggling, his hands moved up around her throat, slowly squeezing the breath out of her until she was seeing stars. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears as he held her still with one hand, and tried to push her skirt aside with the other. Just before she lost consciousness, Connie spared one, last thought to wonder what Ric would do if he were here now. 


	10. Chapter 10

Part Ten

The first thing Connie knew was pain, pain like she'd never felt it before. She coughed, tasting the blood that had trickled into the back of her throat, her lips cracked and swollen. She tried to open her eyes, but her left one was closed by a bruise. As she moved her right arm, she gasped at the feel of her skin being torn asunder, the dried blood having held it fast to the carpet. She could feel the shards of broken glass under her fingers, and but for the clotted blood blocking her nose, she would have been able to smell the stale remnants of spilt red wine. Grabbing at the edge of the sofa with her left hand, she struggled to pull herself into a sitting position, sucking in a breath that instantly caused her further pain. Putting a hand to her ribs, she could have sworn she could feel a vague displacement where there really shouldn't be one. As she valiantly tried to pull herself to her feet, every muscle seemed to cry out in protest, any lingering soreness at her centre only briefly registering with her. She glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece to see to her astonishment that it was after eleven o'clock in the morning. So, she had either slept, or more likely been unconscious for over twelve hours. That really wasn't natural, though probably the best thing in the circumstances. She wondered vaguely where Michael was, but was thankful to see on looking out of the front window, that his car wasn't in the drive. Making her way slowly towards the stairs, she began trying to remember what had transpired the evening before. She could remember the argument, and she could certainly remember his beginning to hit her, or more like beat the living daylights out of her. She kept receiving horrendously stabbing pains from her right breast, presumably from where he had squeezed it in response to one of her taunts. She traced the bruises on her neck, where his fingers had dug into her skin to stop her from fighting. But what then? What had he done to her once she'd lost consciousness? From the disheveled state of her clothes and the slight tenderness in her groin, she could certainly hazard a guess. As she waited for the bath to fill with water, she peeled off all her clothes, wincing as the material was ripped away from any cuts, and finding the mammoth task of reaching round to undo her bra, almost impossible. Her shoulders were so stiff, every muscle feeling bruised and battered beyond redemption. She positively avoided looking in the direction of the full-length mirror, not wanting to see the full visual devastation of her once beautiful body. Switching off the taps, she was about to step into the hot, soothing water, when the phone rang. Slightly hesitant to answer it, she wondered if it would be Michael, perhaps trying to apologise whilst remaining at a safe distance from her wrath, not that she currently had the energy for real anger. But to her surprise, it was Ric. 

"You sound as though I've just woken you," He said, sounding concerned. "Not quite," She told him ruefully, wondering if having just woken from a state of unconsciousness counted. "Connie, are you all right?" He asked, hearing something in her voice that he couldn't quite place. "I'm fine," She said a little flatly. Then, after a moment's thought, she said, "I, erm, I wish you were here," And inwardly cursed the tears that rose to her eyes. Wanting him here was pointless. He mustn't know about this, he mustn't know that she desperately wanted his help, but didn't know how to ask for it. How could he possibly find her remotely attractive after seeing her in such a state? "Connie, talk to me," He cajoled, hearing just how much she needed him, and feeling utterly useless. "I can't, not now," She said, rummaging in the bathroom cabinet for alcohol wipes and sterile dressings, knowing that the cut in her arm probably needed stitches, but being entirely unable to do them with one left hand. "Is Michael there?" Ric asked, a vague plan forming in his mind. "No, thank Christ," Connie said without thinking. "So at least I'll get some peace today." "Would you like me to come and see you?" "No, you can't, you mustn't," Connie replied in horror, her voice sounding almost hysterically terrified at the prospect. "Ric, I've got to go," She said, now suddenly desperate to get rid of him, in case he should work out what had happened to her. "No, Connie, don't..." But she had already hung up. 

Thoughtfully putting the phone down, Ric stared out of the window on to a garden submerged under the winter frost. So far, his stay with Jess and Zubin had gone a lot better than he might have hoped, Zubin having done everything possible to try and keep the peace. Going back into the lounge, the cordless phone in his hand, Ric found Jess with the baby on her knee, trying to convince him to eat some mashed banana, and Zubin reading the paper. "That was quick," Zubin observed dryly. "I take it Michael was in residence." "No," Ric said worriedly. "I'm not sure what, but something isn't right." These words brought both pairs of eyes on him. "It's just a feeling," He tried to explain. "Your instincts are better than most people's, dad," Jess said fondly. "What are you going to do?" Zubin asked warily. "Go and see her. What else?" "Do you really think that's wise?" Zubin asked, putting down his paper. "Something's happened to her, Zubin, something that she badly doesn't want me to know, which probably means it's something I ought to know." "Put money on that, would you?" Zubin asked a little scornfully. "Yes, if I had to," Ric countered back. "Stop it, the pair of you," Jess admonished firmly. "Dad, how are you going to see her, if you don't know where she lives?" "Who's on duty on Darwin today?" Ric responded, suddenly getting an idea. "Tricia, I think," Zubin replied, seeing just where this was going. "Brilliant," Ric said, switching on the cordless phone. "She'll do anything for an old friend." 

They listened as he got through to Tricia, and explained what he wanted her to do. "Ric Griffin, you'll get me shot," She insisted. "I don't care how long I have known you, I can't just give you anyone's address from the computer." "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," Ric assured her. "That's what all men say when they want a favour," She told him blithely. "What's it worth?" "I'll buy you a drink before I go back," He promised her. "Make it a double and we might be talking," She replied with a smile, and he could clearly hear the sound of rapidly clicking computer keys. "You're a star," Ric told her, knowing that only Tricia would have done this for him. "Don't you dare tell her who you got it from," She told him firmly. "Or I'll be out of a job." Switching off the phone and asking if he could borrow Zubin's car, Ric prepared to leave them to it. "You know that mum's coming round this afternoon?" Jess reminded him. "She doesn't need me," Ric said matter-of-factly. "Besides, I've heard enough of her grandma's stories to last me a life time." "Just be careful," Zubin said, handing over the car keys. "You might not be all that welcome." 

As Ric drove through the empty streets towards Connie's house, his thoughts centred back on what could have happened to her. She had sounded as though she was in pain, but no, that couldn't be, could it? She had been terrified at the thought of his turning up to see her, which made him wonder if he really was doing the right thing. Oh, well, nothing ventured and all that, he thought ruefully, turning into Connie's driveway, and seeing that only Connie's silver-grey jag was still there. 

Connie was just getting out of the bath when the doorbell rang, and thinking that Michael must have at last decided to slink his way home, she wrapped herself in a towel, and went downstairs to answer it. The longer she left him standing on the doorstep, possibly looking stupid in front of the neighbours, the angrier he might be. But on opening the door, any colour in her cheeks from the heat of the bathwater totally drained away on seeing Ric. He wasn't supposed to be here, he wasn't supposed to see her like this. "You shouldn't be here," She said, clearly preparing to close the door on him. But putting a hand out, he managed to stop her just in time. "Can I come in?" He asked her quietly, unable to take his eyes off her battered face. He'd known something was wrong, and he'd been right, though not in a million years would he have thought it was something like this. "I suppose you may as well now you're here," She said dismissively, turning away from him as he came into the house and closed the door. "Connie," He said, putting a hand out to touch her bare shoulder. "Don't," She replied a little hoarsely, flinching away from him. "What happened?" He asked, inwardly kicking himself at the inanity of the question. "What does it look like?" She said disgustedly. "Did Michael do this?" He asked, not letting her sniping frighten him off. "You really have a knack for stating the bloody obvious, don't you?" "And you were so terrified of me coming to see you, because you didn't want me to see what he'd done to you." "Full marks, Sherlock," She said very bitterly, clearly struggling to keep it together. "You look like I ought to take you to A and E," He said, scrutinizing as much of her as he could see. "Absolutely no way," She told him firmly. "I'm barely holding onto my iron facade in that place as it is. I am not letting any of my staff see me looking like this. Harry would hardly be able to keep something like this quiet." "He probably would for you," Ric said with half a smile. Then, turning serious again, he said, "Fine, but if you won't let me take you to hospital, at least let me check you over, to put my mind at rest if nothing else." "You're not going to give in, are you," Connie said wearily, not having the strength to argue. "You need looking at," Ric told her gently. "Trust me, I really wouldn't insist on it if I didn't think so." Turning from him without another word, Connie led the way painfully up the stairs. 

When they entered the bedroom, Ric's eyes strayed to the pile of discarded clothes on a chair, taking in the torn, blood stained blouse. "You need to know that I really don't want you to do this," She told him, her voice sounding strange without its usual air of slightly detached self-confidence. "I think I'd managed to work that out for myself," He told her kindly. "Connie, all I'm concerned about at the moment, is precisely how hurt you are." "Fine," She said tonelessly. "But it won't be very pretty." Undoing the towel, she removed it and laid it over the chair. Raising her eyes to meet his, she watched his face for reaction as he scrutinized her from head to foot, taking in every bruise. His eyes widened when he took in the far too evident finger marks on her throat, and still further when he caught sight of the handprint on her left breast. "How much does that hurt?" He asked, gesturing to her breast. "A lot," she admitted reluctantly. "May I?" He asked, knowing she wasn't going to like this, but needing to examine her more closely. With the barest of nods she acquiesced. He took her breast delicately in his right hand, very gently exploring the tender tissue. "I think it's just bruised," He said, taking his hand away from her as soon as possible. His gaze then moved downwards, taking in the many bruises over her ribs, as well as the ones on the tops of her thighs. "Does it hurt when you breathe?" He asked, thinking of the possibility of cracked ribs. "Yes," She said. "It hurts like hell." "Where's your stethoscope?" "In there," She replied, gesturing to the bedside cabinet. Retrieving it, Ric caught a waft of her perfume as he held it up. After listening to her chest and delicately palpating her ribcage, he said, "I can't be certain without an X-ray, but I'm pretty sure that you've got a couple of cracked ribs, so you're going to have to be very careful over the next few weeks, but you know all that." Putting the stethoscope away, his gaze again returned to the bruises on the tops of her thighs. When the awful realisation occurred to him of just how she had come by these, he almost recoiled in shock. When he'd first caught sight of Connie's face, he'd simply thought that Michael had beaten her up, but now he was beginning to wonder. Seeming to realise where his thoughts were heading, Connie moved away from him, retrieved a nightie from the chest of drawers and tried with difficulty to pull it over her head. Instantly coming out of his introspection, Ric moved to help her, seeing that her shoulders were simply too stiff to accomplish such a thing. "Thank you," She acknowledged quietly, and he could see that she was shivering. "Are you cold?" He asked, also realising that she'd just got out of the bath. "Probably," She said bleakly. "I think I'm in shock." "You should go to bed," He told her, wanting to warm her up himself, but thinking that this probably wasn't wanted. "What's under the dressing?" He asked, gesturing to her right arm. "Something that probably requires a bit of your handiwork," She told him, sliding gratefully under the soft, thick duvet. "A fabulous surgeon I may be, but even I can't stitch myself up with one hand." Moving over to her and perching on the side of the bed, Ric took her right arm between his hands. Drawing back the dressing, he winced when he saw the jagged cuts in her skin. Peering closely at it, he said, "How did you get this?" "I'm not sure," She replied tiredly. "I think I fell on a knocked over wineglass." When she felt the reflexive tightening in his hands, she said, "Ric, please don't be angry." Realising that his reaction had frightened her, Ric turned to face her, taking both her hands in his. "Connie, you really don't need to be frightened of me," He promised her, looking straight into her eyes. "I know, and I'm sorry, I just..." "It's all right, you don't need to explain," He told her gently. "Now, have you got anything I can sort this arm out with?" "There's some surgical thread and a needle in the bathroom cabinet," She told him, grateful for his having changed the subject. Connie badly wanted to be in his arms, to feel the warm, comforting security of him, but she just didn't know how to ask. This wasn't something Connie Beauchamp usually did, ask for help, reveal she was in any way vulnerable, so how did she start? Finding what he wanted, Ric returned to sit on the side of the bed, using a pair of sterilised tweezers to remove tiny shards of glass from the cuts in her arm. When he glanced over at her, he could see that her eyes were screwed up with the pain of having her wounds so thoroughly probed. "Do feel free, to call me every name under the sun whilst I'm doing this," He told her, knowing that the pain really might be too much to stand. "Because you don't have any local anaesthetic, and this is definitely going to hurt when I start sewing you up." Connie tried to restrain herself, not entirely wanting to introduce Ric to her more than elaborate vocabulary, but the stitches hurt more than everything else put together. When he'd finishing the stitching, Connie looked exhausted. After clearing away the wrappings from the needle and thread, Ric again took her hands in his, gently chafing them between his. 

"Are you going to tell me how this happened?" "Where do you want me to start?" She replied dejectedly. "It began with our usual Christmas discussion, on the pointless possibility of us having children, even though he knows that has never and will never be part of my game plan. Then we moved onto the delightful little subject of his wanting to control my every move, which led very neatly onto whatever it is I appear to have going on with you. I really shouldn't start talking when I've had a few glasses of wine, but I suppose I couldn't quite resist rubbing his nose in it. Actually, some of the things I said to him were pretty bad, even for me." "That doesn't give him a remotely plausible excuse for doing this to you, Connie," Ric insisted vehemently. "Doesn't it? Because I really am beginning to wonder." "Connie, you didn't deserve any of this," He tried to convince her gently. "Ric, you really don't know the half of it," She told him wearily. "So tell me," He prompted her quietly, wondering if he might be about to hear the full truth. "I can't," She said, the tears finally rising to her eyes. "Besides, it really wouldn't solve anything for me to tell you." Reaching to put his arms round her, Ric pulled her gently against him, resting his face in her hair. "Connie, nothing you could tell me, would ever make me think any less of you, I promise you that. You, did, not, deserve any of this, no matter how much you think you did. For now, all I want you to do, is to go to sleep, and we'll talk about this again when you wake up." "I'm sorry," She said, and he could feel the slight warmth of her tears against his neck. "What for?" He asked, running the soft strands of her hair through his fingers. "I wish you hadn't been dragged into the middle of all this." "That's what I'm here for," He told her softly, touching a very gentle kiss to her bruised cheek. "Please don't disappear, will you?" She asked as she lay down again, pulling the duvet around her. "I'm not going anywhere," He promised her, sitting with her and holding onto her incredibly clever hands until she fell asleep. 


	11. Chapter 11

Part Eleven

After listening to Connie's slightly uneven breathing, clearly impaired by the cracked ribs, Ric left her to sleep and went downstairs. Only now that he could think freely, did his own reaction to seeing her so broken, finally hit home. He knew that he hadn't heard the full story, in fact he doubted that he'd even heard half of it, but it was as clear as day what had happened to her. How could a man, a man who supposedly loved his wife, beat and rape her just to put her in her place? Walking into the lounge, Ric stopped still and stared at what lay before him. Connie obviously hadn't been in here since she'd roused herself that morning, as nothing had been done in an attempt to tidy up. Ric stared down at the broken glass next to the coffee table. Was that blood, or red wine staining the carpet? He wasn't sure. There were also several blood spatters on the sofa, presumably where this horrific spate of events had begun. Thinking that he may as well make him self useful, Ric cleaned up as much as possible, also deciding to relight the open fire that had gone out during the night. He thought that Connie might appreciate the welcome warmth when she eventually woke up. Then, knowing that unless Michael reappeared he would be staying here for at least tonight, Ric picked up the cordless phone and called Zubin. 

"It's me. Can you talk?" Ric asked when Zubin answered the phone. Excusing himself from the company of his one-day to be mother-in-law, Zubin went into the kitchen. "Where are you?" He asked. "Connie's," Ric replied quietly. "Zubin, Michael's beaten her up, pretty extensively." "Oh, you're joking!" Zubin said in complete shock. "I wish I was," Ric said dryly. "I knew something was wrong when I spoke to her earlier, but I had no idea it was this. Quite where Michael's slithered off to is anyone's guess. She really ought to be in hospital, but you know Connie." "Yes, probably makes a worse patient than you did," Zubin said philosophically. "How much did she tell you?" "Not a lot," Ric said regretfully. "But she's said enough to make me think that wasn't all he did to her." "Ric," Zubin warned ominously. "If this is going where I think it's going, you need to be extremely careful." "Yes, I know," Ric said with a heavy heart. "But all she seems capable of thinking at the moment, is that it's her fault." "Unfortunately, that's really quite normal with something like this," Zubin said regretfully. "So, unless Michael turns up, I'll be staying here tonight. Connie's asleep at the moment, or I wouldn't be talking to you. She'd have a fit if she thought anyone else knew about this." "Yeah, especially me," Zubin said a little ruefully. "Ric, I might not like or agree with Connie's politics, but no one deserves something like that." 

A couple of hours later when Connie drifted back into the land of the living, it took her a while to remember everything that had happened to her. So, Ric had patched her up. Fervently praying that he was still here, that he hadn't left her without telling her, she struggled out of bed, and pulled on a thick, over large dressing gown. It entirely hid what curves she had, and at the moment, that was precisely how she wanted it. Everything hurt as she walked slowly down the stairs, all her muscles having stiffened up again after her bath. As she crossed the hall, she heard the rustle of a newspaper, meaning that Ric was obviously still here. Pushing open the lounge door, she saw that he'd cleared up the glass, and as much of the spilled wine as possible. He had also re-laid and relit the fire, and was now sitting in one of the armchairs reading the paper. He looked up as she approached, her ravaged face striking him anew. "What are you reading?" She asked in that deeper, just having woken up voice. "Something I shouldn't be," He said ruefully, trying to fold up the newspaper. Leaning over his shoulder, Connie caught sight of the list of runners that were scheduled for that afternoon at Kempton Park. Removing the newspaper from his hands, she calmly removed the racing pages, folded them in two, and shoved them into the fire. As she stood and meditatively watched the paper begin to burn, she refolded what was left and handed it back to him. "Thank you," Ric said gratefully, liking her matter-of-fact way of dealing with the situation. "Oh, that's all right," She replied, her thoughts having clearly been far away. "How are you feeling?" "Sore," She said succinctly. "But I don't have anything worth taking in the house." "Would you like a cup of tea?" He asked, wanting to be able to do something for her. "I'm not sure that it would stay down," Connie said ruefully. Her eyes strayed to the sofa, and then away again, with Ric realising that there was the last place she probably wanted to sit. Reaching for her left hand, he pulled her towards him, drawing her gently down onto his knee. "That better?" He asked as she leaned gratefully against him. "Much," She replied, thinking that it must have been years since she'd sat this way with anyone. 

They sat in companionable silence for a while, just listening to the crackling of the logs in the fire. Connie felt safe, warm and secure, three things she certainly hadn't felt in this room last night. He had his right arm round her, with his left hand resting on the arm of the chair, comforting her but not trying to invade her space. Her head leaned into the corner of the chair, and she thought she could have stayed here forever. When she asked, "Why were you thinking of gambling again?" It seemed to rouse him from his introspection. "It deeply upsets, and angers me that this has been done to you," He told her quietly. "And those are the types of feelings that usually make me do it." She took his left hand in hers, softly running her thumb over the knuckles. "When was the last time you thought about it?" "Before I left for Ghana," He told her, immensely touched that she was so matter-of-factly prepared to confront his addiction. "Did you gamble when you found out about Jess and Zubin?" "I thought about it," He admitted ruefully. "And if pay day had come a few days early, I probably would have done. So, instead of losing a lot of money that I didn't have, I gave him the biggest bruise I think I've ever given anyone in my life, and no, that's not something I'm especially proud of." "When was the last time you did gamble?" "The time I went to Paris with Donna and one of my patients," Ric replied stonily, remembering just what had been going on under his nose at that time. "That was over a year ago," Connie said almost proudly. "I know," Ric said with a slight smile. "Something I wouldn't previously have thought possible." "Why did you, on that occasion?" Ric didn't question himself as to why he was telling her these things, because it simply felt natural to do so. "Zubin, for all his faults, helped me more than anyone when I finally decided to quit the gambling, and when he left for Paris, I think I realised that the one real support I'd had, was gone. When I eventually caught up with him in Paris, I told him what I'd done, and he barely seemed to take any notice of it. I know why now, because Jess was in the hotel with him, and he was terrified of me seeing her there." 

Connie was quiet for a while, not entirely knowing what to say. He was still hurting considerably over what Zubin had done, even though he was clearly trying to build some bridges by staying with them. "We're not supposed to be talking about me," Ric said into the silence. "It's far more preferable, believe me," Connie told him bleakly, knowing that he wasn't going to drop it any time soon. Ric wasn't sure how to proceed with his next point. He wanted to ask her about what had really happened, but he was absolutely certain that she wouldn't want to talk about it, and that anything resembling a probing question might frighten her off altogether. "You're very thoughtful," She eventually observed. "Has Michael ever done this to you before?" He asked, thinking this question as good as any. "Do you seriously think I'd still be here if he had?" Connie replied a little disgustedly. "So why now?" Ric persisted. "Why suddenly now?" "I haven't done all that much to keep him sweet over the last few months," Connie said a little evasively. "I haven't slept with him anywhere near as much as usual." "That is not an excuse for doing something like this," Ric protested vehemently. "Oh, and just how would you feel," Connie demanded bitterly. "If, every time you slept with your wife, you knew she didn't enjoy it, because she really couldn't be bothered to make you believe otherwise?" "I would accept it and deal with it," Ric told her succinctly. "Connie, it happens to all of us at some point or another. I would probably see it as a sign that I needed to do better. You might almost call it a challenge." "But don't you see," Connie tried to explain. "That's the point. Michael loathes having to work at anything, even sex. He is so used to everything automatically happening in the way he desires it to, that he can't accept it when it doesn't. The word no means very little to Michael, it's simply an inconvenience to be avoided where at all possible. Whenever I really can't sleep with him, he usually makes a point of being away from home, so that he can pick up someone else." "That seems a little uncharitable," Ric said disgustedly. "Not really," Connie said wearily. "It's just his way of getting what he wants, when he wants it. He got so wound up yesterday, because I was taunting him about you, possibly one of the stupidest things I've ever done, but there you are." After a few moment's silence, as he watched the thoughts flitting to and fro behind her eyes, she asked, "Do you think I behave like a whore?" "That isn't a word I would personally accord to anyone," Ric said carefully, wondering where this had come from. "Not even someone with Chrissie's slightly dubious morals. Why?" "Michael said that was how I sounded, when I was talking about you, which in hindsight I probably did. His incredibly talented little whore, was something he used to call me quite often, before I became one, that is." Ric felt his skin crawl at her own reference to herself in this way, loathing her almost blasé use of the word, as though it described her perfectly. "I wish you wouldn't refer to yourself like that," He told her quietly. "Ric, before I came out to see you in Ghana, that is precisely what I was. I used sex to get me the power I wanted, you know I did." "So what changed?" He asked her. "I did," She replied quietly, her gaze now centred in on him. "You showed me a side of me that I'd forgotten existed. You reminded me what it was like to be appreciated for simply being me, not for what I could give you. You've got no idea just how much I had forgotten what that was like." Ric stared back at her, not having known that he'd had such a marked effect on her. 

"I ought to admire your tactics," He said ruefully into the resulting silence. "I'm not sure whether you're aware of it, but you keep managing to manoeuvre me away from what happened to you yesterday." "I wasn't consciously trying," She said with a smile. "But I suppose it comes of years of practice." "What really brought everything to a head?" "He wanted to sleep with me, to prove that he was a better lover than you. I told him that he wasn't, which I don't suppose went down well, and said that I wouldn't even consider sleeping with him until he sobered up. There's no bigger turn off, than somebody pleading with me to sleep with them, I hate it." She stopped, clearly not wanting to continue. Ric just waited, knowing that she had to be allowed to do this in her own time. "He hit me, because I told him that he used to be a real man. I think that was his way of proving he was. I asked him if he thought that made him a real man, and his response was to tell me that he thought I used to like it rough." "Which you do, if I remember rightly," Ric put in, clearly remembering her last night in Ghana, when she had needed that hard and furious action to achieve her emotional release. "There is a great deal of difference," Connie said acidly. "Between liking a bit of rough sex very occasionally, to being beaten black and blue." "I know there is," Ric said calmly, not rising to her inference that he was agreeing with Michael. "I'm sorry," She said, the wind having gone out of her sails. "I know," He told her gently, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. 

"I, erm, I tried to get away from him, but a mixture of anger, alcohol and sexual arousal, creates an enormous amount of strength." Her face was turned away from him now, and he could feel her entire body tensing up against him. "When I realised what he intended to do," She continued a little hesitantly. "I did the stupidest thing I possibly could have done, I called his bluff, told him he wouldn't dare." Inwardly, Ric winced, knowing that this was the precise thing to have persuaded someone like Michael Beauchamp to do just that. Connie found that she couldn't say it, she simply couldn't put into words what Michael had actually done to her. "If only I'd slept with him," She said bitterly into the silence. "If only I'd given in just this once, he would never have done something like that to me." "And trying to turn the clock back, and apportioning yourself even the slightest amount of blame, isn't going to help," Ric told her firmly. "This, is, not, your, fault, Connie, and you will not persuade me otherwise." "Ric, over the last few months, I have made him feel a complete failure, not something he's ever been used to." "And that is absolutely no excuse," He said vehemently. "Connie, that's not something a real man does to his wife, to anyone." Then, after a moment's thought, he asked, "How much did that hurt you?" Knowing that she hadn't mentioned it when they'd been cataloguing her injuries earlier. "It's nothing that won't heal and that I can't live with," She said dismissively. "And what's really odd, is that I don't even remember it. The last thing I do remember is him squeezing the bloody life out of me, because I was fighting so much." She traced the marks on her neck with a finger. "I think I must have lost consciousness due to lack of oxygen. The next thing I knew, it was hours later, everything hurt and Michael had gone. You could say I'm better off than some. I bet Diane would have given anything to not be able to remember what Dominic Fryer did to her." She was talking about her lack of memory almost nonchalantly, but Ric could see that something was niggling away in the back of her mind, getting closer and closer to the surface. "At one point," She continued. "I think I thought I was going to die. I think part of me wishes I had." Her utterance of this assertion seemed to shock her, as though she really hadn't meant for it to slip out. "Why?" Ric asked her, resisting the urge to hold her even closer to him, as though to protect her from further thoughts of this nature. "Because then I wouldn't have to know that he'd done this to me," She replied miserably, the long suppressed tears finally rising to her eyes. "I know some of the things I do are pretty reprehensible," She added gloomily, desperately trying to keep her voice under control. "But I didn't know I was worth quite so little." These brittle words cut Ric to the core, slicing through his heart with a piercing agony for her that temporarily made him speechless. Realising that she wouldn't be able to hold onto her control for much longer, Connie tried to get up from his lap, struggling to free herself from the comforting haven of his arms. Understanding her plight but unwilling to let her suffer alone, Ric drew her closer, turning her face back towards him, holding her to him as her body shook with silent tears. He could feel that desperate desire within her not to lose control, and not to let anyone else see her do it, not even him. "I'm sorry," She said eventually, raising her cheek from where it rested against his shoulder. "Connie, you don't need to be sorry," He told her, feeling a little off course himself. "I just feel so stupid," She said bitterly, reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table beside them. "Connie, I don't care how many times I have to say it, but I will keep on telling you that it wasn't your fault, for as long as it takes. You are finding it easier to blame yourself, because it is far easier to punish oneself than it is to punish someone else. But in this case, you are wrong to keep on doing that. If it's the last thing I do, I will persuade you to start believing in yourself again." 


	12. Chapter 12

Part Twelve

They spent a very quiet evening together, sitting close by the fire and doing a lot of talking. Connie told Ric to help himself to anything he could find in the kitchen if he was hungry, and at one point in the evening he even managed to persuade her to eat some toast. "One thing that did occur to me when I saw you two days ago," Ric told her carefully, watching her as she gradually ate the toast. "Is that you don't need to get any thinner." "Yes, Yes, I know," She said tiredly, as though he hadn't been the first person to say this to her, when she knew that he had. "It was just an observation, that's all," He said mildly. "I tend not to eat enough when I'm stressed," She admitted whilst steadily avoiding his penetrating gaze. "I did wonder," He replied as though it made other things fit into place. "It's nothing major," She insisted, seeing where his thoughts were going. "Try not to let it become anything major," He warned her quietly, knowing that she didn't need that particular complication on top of everything else. 

Later that night when they went up to bed, Ric changed the dressing on her arm, pleased to see that his stitches still looked clean and secure. When she was lying snugly under the duvet, looking more exhausted than he'd ever seen her, he asked, "Would you prefer me to sleep in the spare room?" "No, of course not," She said in surprise, lifting her hand to cover a yawn. "I thought it might make you feel more..." Ric hesitated over the word comfortable, not sure if it was really the right one. "Ric, I know that you're not about to jump on me, and you know you're not getting any more than a cuddle," Connie told him with a tired smile. "So I would be perfectly happy to have you in my bed. It would be extremely nice, believe me." After borrowing a spare toothbrush, Ric slid under the duvet in his boxer shorts, immediately reaching out to her as she moved into his arms. It felt incredibly soothing to her to be so close to him, to have her head on his chest, and to hear his slow, deep breathing. He softly ran his fingers through her hair, breathing in the sexy, subtle fragrance of her. "I'm glad you're here," She said into his chest. "I wish it was for a far more pleasurable reason." Lifting her head to look up at him, Connie could just see his profile, by the shaft of moonlight coming in through the gap in the bedroom curtains. His face was full of emotion, as though all his feelings on what had happened to her, had finally broken free of their restraints. His eyes were moist, and she could see the struggle it was taking to maintain his equilibrium. "Darling, please don't cry," She said gently, the endearment slipping out before she could think better of it. She was incredibly moved by the feelings he clearly had for her and what had happened to her. "I'm not," He said a little unconvincingly. "Yes, you are," She said with a soft smile, using a finger to wipe away the one tear that had managed to escape. When she hesitantly placed her lips on his, he briefly held her even closer to him, pouring everything he felt for her into that embrace. She could feel all the fondness and compassion emanating from him, surrounding her like a warm, fleecy blanket, protecting her from any further harm. When they eventually came up for air, Ric said, "I'm sorry," Feeling that he really shouldn't have revealed himself quite so entirely. "Sh, it's all right," She told him softly, laying her head back on his chest in preparation for sleep. 

Connie was dreaming, with sights and sounds flitting in and out of her range of perception. She was floating, looking down on the scene of her lounge, watching as Michael and she argued and fought. She winced as the first blow came, feeling the pain even though she was looking down on her own body. She saw her own fruitless struggle to run for freedom, and watched in helpless silence as the scene changed. Now she was looking at the hospital boardroom, and Ric and Michael were facing each other across the table. Cards were spread out before them, the stake rising higher and higher. Realising what they were surely playing for, Connie opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Then, she was back in her lounge again, and fully engaged in the fight this time, instead of floating above it. When he began squeezing her throat, she almost looked forward to the coming evaporation of her senses. But as this was a dream, things didn't quite go according to plan. She didn't lose consciousness, but remained aware of everything Michael did to her, crying out as Michael forcefully breeched the unprepared entrance to her body. 

Ric had become gradually aware of Connie tossing and turning in the bed beside him, her occasional whimpers of protest telling him that the dream, whatever it was, certainly wasn't nice. But when the word, "No!" Sprang from her in absolute terror, Ric thought it was about time to wake her up. Putting out his arms to her, he tried to hold her still, to prevent her from hurting herself even more. "Connie, wake up," He told her firmly, hoping to penetrate her fogged and disturbed mind. Her eyes were glazed, clearly not seeing him, but someone else. She pushed at his chest, frantic to get him away from her, desperately trying to prevent a repetition of Christmas Night. "Connie, it's me, Ric," He insisted, taking her hands in his so that she didn't give him a black eye in the throws of her fear. When her vision finally cleared, she lay there, breathing hard, clearly trying to banish the panic that was swamping her. "It was just a dream," Ric promised her soothingly. She stared at him, trying to put her jumbled thoughts into some sort of order. "I, erm, I..." She stopped, not entirely sure how to explain what she'd seen. "Oh, god," She suddenly added, all the colour draining from her face. Wrenching herself free of Ric's arms, she lurched out of bed, heading with more speed than Ric would have thought possible towards the bathroom. Connie didn't think that she had ever thrown up quite so much, not even when she'd been seventeen, and had smoked some seriously off dope with a couple of friends. It surely wasn't natural for there to be so much able to leave one's stomach, when said person had eaten so very little. When she felt him kneel down beside her, his arms going around her waist to hold her upright, she knew that in this moment, she sincerely wanted to die. Her ribs were total agony with all the heaving, but it felt as though her diaphragm had gone into spasm. "I wish I was dead," She groaned after a while. "No, you don't," Ric admonished her gently. "Try to calm down, or you'll hurt your ribs even more." "Easier, said, than done," Connie told him between gasps, feeling his hand beginning to rub gentle circles on her back. When her stomach eventually decided it had nothing else to give, she took in a few deep breaths, made all the harder by her cracked and protesting ribs. Ric helped her to her feet, and watched as she splashed her face and scrubbed her teeth until her gums bled. She stared at her flushed, hollow-cheeked face in the mirror, not wanting to believe this was Connie Beauchamp staring back at her. "I look about sixty," She told him dismally, absent-mindedly scratching at the skin on her left forearm. "What?" He asked, gesturing to the nails that were raking along her skin. "I feel filthy, tainted," She said, the words making sense only to her, because only she knew what she had dreamt. "I need a quick shower." "Would you like a cup of tea?" Ric asked her, thinking that the post-traumatic stress must finally be catching up with her. "Yes please," She said, switching on the shower, and turning the dial to as hot as it would go. 

Finding a box of herbal teas in the kitchen, Ric made her a cup of peppermint, knowing it would settle her stomach far more than ordinary tea. When he returned upstairs, she was out of the shower, and back in bed, clearly wearing a different nightie. "Sorry about that," She said as he handed her the tea. "Nothing I haven't seen before," He commented dryly, sliding back under the duvet. "What did you dream?" After taking a tentative sip of the tea, Connie placed the mug on the bedside cabinet and lay down again. "You and Michael were playing poker for my soul," She told him succinctly, her body uncontrollably shivering now that she was out of the hot shower. Putting his arms round her, Ric tried to warm her up. "Who won?" He couldn't help asking, for want of anything better to say. "I don't know," Connie told him exhaustedly. "The scene kept changing. It kept alternating between the poker, and what Michael did to me. I don't remember anything after I lost consciousness," She added a little unsteadily. "So how can I know it was like that? How can I recreate it in so much fucking detail?" "It's highly possible," Ric said carefully. "That you were peripherally aware of what happened, but that you're not allowing yourself to remember it, because you don't want to remember it, which is perfectly natural." "What, about any of this, is perfectly natural?" Connie demanded acidly, hot tears pouring down her face. "Precisely what, is perfectly natural, about one's husband forcing his way inside you, just because he wants his own way?" Ric never did know what to say in these sorts of situations, and this one was no different. All he could do was to try to calm her down, to reassure her by actions rather than words, that he really wasn't going anywhere. "I'm sorry," She said eventually. "You shouldn't have to deal with all this. When I lose it, I really go all out to do it properly." "You do with most things," Ric told her fondly. "And I'm here, trying to help you through this, because that's what friends are for." "Well, thank you," She said, reaching for a tissue to blow her nose. "I'm not sure where I'd be now if it wasn't for you. Never thought you'd hear me say that, did you." "Go to sleep," He told her gently, hearing the clear exhaustion in her tone, but silently indulging himself with the thought that she actually did need him. 


	13. Chapter 13

Part Thirteen

When they woke around nine the next morning, Connie groaned. "How do you feel?" Ric asked, his voice much deeper from sleep. "Everything hurts like hell," Connie told him miserably, showing that she clearly wasn't a morning person, even in the best of circumstances. "Have you got anything that might help?" "No," Connie replied, sounding even more miserable. "When I can summon up the energy, I'll have a hot bath. That helped yesterday." "I'm sorry to have to do this," Ric told her carefully. "But I'm going to have to leave you for a while today. Leo's coming over, and I haven't seen him in far too long." "You don't need to be sorry," Connie assured him. "He's your son, and I've taken up more than enough of your holiday as it is." "You still need looking after," Ric said, feeling the divided loyalties pulling him in different directions. "I'll be all right," Connie promised him. "All I really plan on doing, is either staying right here, or sitting in front of some mindless film on the TV." "I wouldn't want Michael to come back when I wasn't here," Ric told her, finally voicing his main concern. "Oh, don't you worry about him," Connie said with a mirthless laugh. "He won't come back here for a week or more." "Connie, do you know where he is?" Ric asked in surprise. "Of course I do," She astonished him by saying. "And no, don't worry, I haven't knifed him and buried him under the patio, though the thought did cross my mind at least once on Christmas Night. I suspect he's at his flat in London, hiding away and nursing his pride, until he can't avoid my existence any longer." "All right," Ric said, though not sounding remotely convinced. "But if you're worried about anything, you must phone me at Zubin's, he won't mind." "You told him, didn't you," She said, sounding almost resigned to the fact. "Yes," He said simply, expecting a tirade in response. "Ric, if I had even half the energy, I would demand to know why," Connie said exhaustedly. "But I suppose I should have expected it." "I could ask Zubin for some decent pain relief," Ric suddenly suggested, wondering why this thought hadn't occurred to him before. "I don't want anyone's pity, Ric, least of all Professor Khan's," Connie told him firmly. "I'll deal with it." 

Around lunchtime as Ric drove back to Zubin's, he hoped she really would be all right. Connie was easily as stubborn as he was, if not worse in her own way, but she really did need some sort of pain relief. He had left her lying in a hot, scented bath, with a cup of tea and a good book. He had remade the fire before he left, so that it would be nice and warm for her if she went downstairs. When Zubin opened the door to him, he said, "Aha, the wanderer returns with my car. How is she?" "Connie, or your car?" Ric quipped back, coming in and closing the door. "He means Connie," Jess said firmly, from where she sat on the sofa holding a sleeping baby. "She's in a lot of pain, and feeling very miserable," Ric told them, sinking gratefully into an armchair. "Which makes her temper even more formidable than usual, I should imagine," Zubin said ruefully, handing Ric a coffee and Jess a cup of tea. "I can live with it," Ric said dismissively. "You've just got to know how to handle her." Then, after taking a sip of the steaming liquid, he said, "Actually, I feel quite useless. All I seem able to do is to let her talk to me, and try and take care of her." "Dad, that is helping her," Jess insisted with a smile. "It's probably exactly what she needs right now." Then, a little more carefully, she said, "Zubin said that you thought she might have been raped." "Yes," Ric replied stonily, turning to look over at Zubin. "Don't ever tell me I don't know what I'm talking about, will you. I was absolutely right on that score, though quite how she can think that being forced to have sex is entirely her fault, is beyond me." "That's unfortunately too often how it works, dad," Jess told him regretfully. But seeing something in Zubin's face, Ric turned on him. "You can't seriously think she's right?" He demanded, his voice rising with indignation. "Admittedly, Connie doesn't exactly have a very virtuous approach with regards to the interpersonal relationships she has with her colleagues, but that doesn't mean she deserved something like this." "Did I say she did?" Zubin protested mildly. "Sh, you two," Jess hushed them. "I don't want him to be all sleepy when Leo arrives." Ric flashed her a smile of apology, having temporarily forgotten about the sleeping baby in his daughter's arms. "Zubin," Ric continued. "He's almost completely broken her spirit. You'd hardly recognise her if you saw her now, and she woke up in the middle of last night after reliving too much of it. I really think she should be in hospital, but she won't hear of it. You know Michael better than I do," He added, slightly changing the subject. "Does he seem the kind of person to do something like this?" "Who does, dad?" Jess asked him philosophically. "I don't know," Zubin said meditatively. "That was always the thing with him and Connie, you never quite knew what lay under the surface, though I can say that he wouldn't have liked ever being told no to anything." After a long, thoughtful silence, Jess put in, "You're doing everything you possibly can do. If you've managed to get her to talk to you, then that's a huge step forward, because some people don't talk about that sort of thing for years. She'll do far better in the long run for having got at least some of it out of her head. So, whilst there's nothing else you can do for the time being, go upstairs, put some different clothes on, and cheer up. Leo will be here in a while, and he doesn't want to see you looking as though someone just died, when they are still very much alive." "Are you sure you two didn't get married on the quiet?" Ric asked her, getting up to do her bidding. "You're starting to sound more like your mother every day." 

Many hours later, long after Leo had gone, Ric took the present his son had brought him, plus the cordless phone out into the garden. After rolling the joint, he dialled Connie's number. "It's me," He told her when she answered. "How was your day?" She asked, sounding incredibly tense and on the point of cracking. "Erm, interesting," He said evasively. The conversation between him and his son had been somewhat stilted, but Ric thought he had just about managed to lay a few stones of a new bridge between them. "How are you feeling?" "Erm, sort of all over the place," She admitted, sounding disgusted with herself for such a lack of control. "I'm terrified of Michael coming back even though I know he won't, I'm tired, depressed and in pain, and I would give anything for a cuddle. Oh, and I forgot the bit about entirely loathing myself for being so bloody weak and pathetic, because I can't bear feeling so vulnerable with anyone, never mind someone I'm sleeping with, which also makes me feel incredibly guilty, because you didn't come over here to drag me back on my feet, after what to all intents and purposes was a row with my long suffering husband. Sorry," She added, having come to the end of her outburst. Taking a long drag of the joint, and thinking that Leo certainly knew of a good supplier, Ric tried to mull some of this over. "Let's take this one at a time," He said thoughtfully, not sounding remotely put off by her anger, whether that was aimed at him or at herself. "Ric, are you outside?" She asked, hearing an owl in the distance. "Yes, Leo's idea of a Christmas present was at least enough for a couple of joints, and I don't want to smoke it in the house because of the baby, not that I suppose either Jess or Zubin would let me." "Will you save me some?" Connie asked, getting an idea. "It might be the best pain relief there is going." "I was going to save you some anyway," He told her with a smile. "I thought it might relax you." "Definitely," Connie groaned in anticipation. "Now, back to your catalogue of perfectly expectable grievances. You said yourself that you don't think Michael will come back, but if he does, you call the police, and then you call me. Is that clear?" "If I must," She replied a little grudgingly, unwilling to admit that she needed anyone's help. "As I am not there to soothe away any nightmares, which you mustn't feel bad for experiencing, I suggest that for tonight at least, you knock yourself out with a couple of the sleeping pills I saw in your bathroom cabinet. Now, I can't give you a cuddle right this minute, but I will give you all the cuddles you want, tomorrow. Connie, you mustn't feel weak, or pathetic, or anything else so pointlessly negative, because I can assure you, you're not. If you weren't still trying to fight with me, then I really would worry about you. However, perhaps the most important thing I really don't want you to feel is guilty. I would be trying to see you as much as I have been, even if you were still looking just as you did on Christmas Eve, and even if Michael was still in residence. Connie, I'm trying to do as much as I can for you, though I can't help feeling that it's precious little, because I care about you. All right?" "I'm sorry," She said quietly, and he could hear the tears in her voice. "I... I'm just not used to hearing something quite so sincere, and I'm certainly not used to needing to hear it." "I know," He told her gently. "But just try and accept that when I do say it, I do mean it. You are incredibly precious to me, possibly far more precious than you really want to be, but there it is." "Thank you," She said quietly, feeling immensely touched that he'd been so honest with her. "So, go and take a couple of those pills, go to bed, and I'll see you tomorrow." Putting down the phone, he stubbed out the joint and walked back into the house. "She all right?" Zubin asked in concern. "No, not really," Ric said regretfully. "But I think she'll be all right for tonight." 


	14. Chapter 14

Part Fourteen

Late the next morning when Ric and Zubin were sitting drinking coffee at the kitchen table, and Zubin was struggling to force strawberry yoghurt into a wriggling baby, the cordless phone rang. "Dad, can you get that?" Jess called from the other room. "Hi, it's me," Connie said when he answered. "How are you?" "Terrible," She told him miserably. "Would Zubin have any Cyclozine he might consider parting with?" She asked, referring to the popular antisickness drug often dispensed on the wards. "Connie says do you have any spare Cyclozine at your disposal?" Ric asked him. "I might have," Zubin replied thoughtfully, and then called to Jess to have a look for him. "Put her on hands free," Zubin said, suddenly having an idea. "Zubin wants to talk to you," Ric told her, knowing that confronting the fact that Zubith?" She asked, referring to the popular antisickness drug often dispensed on the wards. "Connie says do you have any spare Cyclozine at your disposal?" Ric asked him. "I might have," Zubin replied thoughtfully, and then called to Jess to have a look for him. "Put her on hands free," Zubin said, suddenly having an idea. "Zubin wants to talk to you," Ric told her, knowing that confronting the fact that Zubin knew what she'd been through, wasn't something she would want to do any time soon. After a short, slightly tense pause, Connie simply said, "Fine." Switching the cordless phone onto hands free, Ric put it down in the middle of the table. "Connie, how's the pain?" He asked without preamble. "You don't mince your words, do you," She replied, sounding a little startled. "Not where the agony from cracked ribs is concerned, no I don't," Zubin told her firmly. "It's driving me up the wall," She said eventually, and they could both tell just how much effort it was taking her not to lose control. "Would you like something a little more powerful than Ibuprofen?" Zubin asked. "Does it come with a professional price attached to it?" Connie demanded bitterly, all her defences flying up in an instant. Zubin looked more than a little hurt by this, but Ric couldn't really blame Connie for asking. "I don't kick people when they're down, Connie," Zubin told her quietly. "Really?" Connie replied, her bitter, hard-edged laugh not containing an ounce of mirth. "Because I think we both know that statement to be entirely false." After a slightly awkward silence, Connie relented. "However, your reason for making such an offer is really immaterial to me at the moment, so yes, if you do have anything that might just take the edge off, I would be eternally grateful." "The only thing I do have that might do some good, is an unlicenced research drug." "As long as it does the trick, I really couldn't care less," Connie told him through slightly gritted teeth. "No way, Zubin," Ric put in to their surprise. "The last time you gave someone one of your unlicenced experimental research drugs, she almost died of Anaphylactic shock. I trust you do remember that complete farce of an operation, involving your daughter, and a girl she smuggled in from the Congo?" "It's improved an awful lot since then," Zubin said mildly. "I promise. It's had much more work done on it to make it safer." "I'll take the risk," Connie said firmly, putting an end to their impromptu argument. "Are you allergic to anything?" Zubin asked her, slipping back into the clinical mode of his profession. "Not that I know of," She replied, sounding a little more hopeful now that she might be about to dull the pain. 

It was just after lunchtime when Jess and Zubin dropped him off at Connie's, on their way to visit Zubin's sister. "Wow," Jess said in awe as Ric got out of the car, and she moved to sit in the passenger seat. "You could do worse, Dad." "We'll see," Ric told her fondly, making no comment on Zubin's clearly dark expression. Walking up the drive as they drove away, Ric couldn't help but take a brief moment to live the fantasy Jess's words had provoked. But that was stupid, he told himself as he reached the front door. Connie was married, and he certainly knew better than to do it again. 

When Connie opened the door, she looked noticeably relieved to see it was Ric. After closing the door behind him, he put his arms round her, just holding her, neither of them needing to say a word. Connie felt that she could now relax because he was here, a notion that gave her slight cause for concern. Connie Beauchamp wasn't supposed to need people, she was supposed to be utterly self-sufficient. Was this what Michael had done to her? "What've you been doing?" He said into her hair, uncommonly happy to have her soft, yielding body back in his arms again. "Reading," She said, leading the way into the lounge. She'd laid a thick, woolen throw over the sofa, to hide from sight the few traces of blood, to remove them from immediate contemplation if not from memory. Picking up the Dick Francis book from the coffee table where she'd put it down, Ric smiled. "I think I've read every book he's ever written," He said, remembering his ritual of going out to buy the paperback just as soon as any new one was available. "As they're all about horse racing, I'm hardly surprised," Connie said dryly, moving to stand in front of the crackling fire to warm her hands. Digging into his trouser and coat pockets, Ric emerged with a handful of singly packed syringes, prefilled with either the antisickness drug Cyclozine, or Zubin's unlicenced pain relief. "It looks as though I'll have to turn junky for a day or two," Connie said with a slightly ironic smile. "Have you been able to keep anything down at all?" Ric asked, glancing at any precautions on the Cyclozine packet. "Not so as you'd notice," Connie replied bleakly. 

When Connie had returned from giving herself two very welcome injections, Ric had made them both a cup of tea. They lay close along the sofa, Connie nestling in the crook of his right arm. "How did you sleep last night?" He asked, taking note of the dark circles under her eyes. "Not brilliantly," She admitted sheepishly. "Why didn't you take one of those pills?" He asked, having thought this to be a good idea at the time. "I don't really like them," She said, raising a hand to cover a yawn. "Until I get the locks changed, I don't really want to be alone in this house, in as vulnerable a position as they put me in. I started taking them after Will died, because I kept dreaming about him. They were just some that were left over from then." "Connie," Ric said carefully. "What you said to Zubin, what did you mean?" "You mean about his definitely being in the business of kicking people when they're down?" She clarified. "Yes, I know I probably shouldn't have said that." "It's not a criticism," Ric assured her. "Because in part I agree with you. I just wondered what it was about, that's all." "When I was sitting in ITU, waiting for Will to wake up," She explained a little hesitantly, never having liked discussing this particular topic with anyone. "I asked Zubin if I'd been wrong, to treat Will in the way I had. Zubin told me that all I'd wanted was for Will to be a good surgeon. You've got absolutely no idea just how much I desperately wanted to believe that, and he really did sound as though he meant it. Then, after the funeral, he stuck the knife in with all the finesse of an ax murderer. Still, I suppose I shouldn't grumble, that painkiller he's given me is starting to work already." Ric was quiet for a time, a combination of hurt and anger flowing through him, at how callously Zubin had behaved over Connie's far too evident guilt over Will. "Don't be angry about it, Ric," She said into the silence. "It's really not worth it." "There's a very odd little coincidence about everything that happened around the time of Will's funeral," Ric replied, as though only just putting the pieces together. "Michael didn't join the hospital board, until your bit of bad publicity was virtually over. You being had up before the board for bullying will doesn't really count, because Michael was in the chair, therefore making the outcome a foregone conclusion. You leaned on Joanna Hopkins, by offering her a promise she couldn't refuse, no doubt with your husband pulling the strings in the background, and you also blackmailed Zubin about his affair with Jess, which is why he finally decided to tell me then and there." "All of which really ought to tell you," Connie told him with a slight smirk. "That I am not, a very nice person. But then I've been trying to convince you of that for the last few months." "Ah, but how much of it is you, and how much of it is Michael's influence?" Ric asked, almost pleased with the way she wasn't attempting to wriggle her way out of any of it. "Michael may have some influence over the way I do things at management level," She admitted grudgingly. "But he doesn't have as much influence over the way I just am, as you seem to think he does. Ric, I wouldn't recommend either living or working with me to anyone. But then you just as much as anyone, ought to know how lethal I am to work with." "Ah, but I know how to handle you," He said, softly kissing her, his voice deeper with unfulfilled promises. "Oh, do you now, Mr. Griffin," She almost purred. "The best way to handle Connie Beauchamp," He said with an entirely straight face. "Is to allow her to get her daily dose of adolescent strop out of her system, whilst maintaining an outward facade of complete indifference. Then," He continued, as the look of indignant fury crept over her face. "Take her to the nearest office at the end of the day, remove every bit of clothing she happens to be wearing, and gradually tease away all that frustration and self-sufficient armour, leaving her as sated and satisfied, as a cat who has just consumed an entire jugful of cream." Connie was caught completely off her guard, outraged by his reference to her as a stroppy teenager, and almost unbearably turned on by the caressing tones of his subsequent suggestions. She opened her mouth to deliver some resounding rejoinder, but shut it again when she realise that she simply couldn't find anything to say. "Well, there's an achievement if I ever saw one," Ric said with a broad grin. "Connie Beauchamp speechless." "I do not, act like an adolescent going through mid pubescent crisis," She said eventually, though it didn't sound quite as determined as she'd hoped it would. "You just listen to yourself the next time you and Zubin get into a row," He said with a laugh. "You're both as bad as each other." "I like the sound of your cure for it though," She added suggestively, marveling at just how incredible those few words had made her feel. If Connie had been honest with herself, she would have said that her fear of not being able to feel sexy again, after what Michael had done to her, was perhaps far more of an issue for her than the act itself. Sex was usually the most pleasurable area of Connie's life, not one that she wanted to have to relinquish to anybody. "Was that really how I looked?" She asked meditatively. "At the end of my first day, I mean?" "Definitely," He told her in what was obviously fond memory. "I didn't think I'd seen anything quite so beautiful for an incredibly long time. Your skin was so rich and warm, and you certainly weren't afraid of telling me what you wanted, which believe me really is an added bonus. It was as though you thought that because you were so incredibly beautiful, it was your absolute right to take whatever I could give you. It didn't matter that we were lying on a battered sofa in my very cramped little office, because you just didn't care. For months afterwards, every time you did something that in normal circumstances would have made me blisteringly angry, and would have made me question just where you kept your feelings, all I had to do was to remember how you looked as you writhed underneath me that day. Everyone else thought that you were entirely empty, possessing nothing but the brain and the skills that allowed you to do your job with such perfection, but I knew better. I might have only seen you lose control that once, but it was enough. Just for that one little bit of time, I'd seen the woman behind the mask as it were." Connie was silent for a while, just trying to take in everything he'd said. She'd never heard this story from his point of view, and it was enlightening to say the least. She'd always known that to keep her mask in place, kept her safe, and kept her apart from those she sought to rule. But to allow her mask to be so thoroughly penetrated without her really being aware of it, well, that was almost terrifying in the extreme. 

Connie could feel the reaction Ric's words were having on her body, her nipples hardening slightly in response to his caressing, honey-rich voice. "Do you have any idea what your voice does to me?" She asked, running an affectionate thumb along his cheek. "At least it's good for something," He commented dryly. "Ric," Connie said a little tentatively. "There's something I need to ask you, to which I am sure you're about to say no." "That sounds ominous," He said warily, knowing that this really must be bad if she was nervous of bringing it up. "At some point, before you go back, please will you make love to me?" Ric had been gently running his hand the length of her right arm, but her question seemed to have shocked him into perfect stillness. "I thought that might have been the last thing you would have wanted from me," He said a little uncertainly, knowing that he really was feeling his way in the dark with this one. "I think I need to feel whole again," She tried to explain. "Maybe I need that part of myself returning to me. Sex has always been a very significant part of my life, Ric. It always has been and probably always will be. From the moment I discovered just how useful my body could be, it's become a tool for occasional manipulation as well as a path to sincere enjoyment." "Just how young were you, when you did discover that?" Ric asked quietly, hearing the wisdom that only possibly regretted experiences can produce. "Too young," She told him evasively. "I need to know," She continued, unwilling to be dissuaded from her original path. "That Michael hasn't entirely destroyed that part of my life, and I trust you enough, to help me find that out." 

Ric couldn't speak for a moment, being incredibly moved by the sheer depth of her faith in him. It wasn't often he felt quite so overwhelmed with emotion, but this time was one of them. "Connie," He said on an exhalation of air. "That's, an enormous complement you've just paid me." He knew it sounded pretty lame, but he just didn't know quite what else to say at the moment. "I know," she said softly, realising just what she'd done to him. "But I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." "If I did do this," Ric began carefully, thinking on his feet. "Connie, I don't want to hurt you, or to frighten you by anything I might do for you. What I certainly don't want to happen is for you to end up loathing me as much as you do Michael. He has hurt you immeasurably, and I don't want to do the same. You mean far too much to me, to risk shattering whatever it is we have between us, just because you want to try something you might not be ready for. I do understand why you want to do this, of course I do, but I can't help thinking that any time in the next few days may be far too soon." Connie knew he was probably right, but that didn't make her feel any better. "You didn't used to need persuading," She told him dismally, feeling old, unattractive and thoroughly unloved. "Connie, believe me, I really don't need persuading to sleep with you under normal circumstances," Ric told her with absolute certainty. "You are definitely the most attractive, incredibly proportioned woman I think I've ever known in my life. All you have to do is talk to me in that deliciously flirtatious drawl of yours, and I'm ready for anything. Even in theatre, you'd casually throw out one of your comments that anyone will remember for the rest of their working life, and I'd be wondering if anyone would notice if I had you up against the nearest wall." Connie laughed in spite of herself. "And you think I'm joking," Ric said with a smile. "Connie, nothing would delight me more, than to be able to banish every hurtful memory you have of this house and of Michael, but I don't want to hurt you in the process. That's why I need a very good reason for risking something quite so precious to me. Okay?" "I'm sorry," Connie said quietly, feeling a little guilty for having pressed him on this. "Don't be," He assured her gently. "I'm not saying no, but I am saying that I need time to think about it." 

They watched a film in the evening, both finding the antics of the couple on the screen really quite arousing. "You watched this on purpose, didn't you," Ric said with a rueful smile. "Would I?" She asked noncommittally, her face holding nothing but angelic innocence. "Yes," Ric said with a laugh. His thoughts had constantly strayed away from the action on the screen, to what he should do about what she had asked of him. What he'd said had been absolutely right, he did want to make love to her, to take away all the bad only to replace it with good. But could he really do that? It would crucify him if he ended up hurting her further, possibly meaning that they would never again be able to mend any fractured tears in their own relationship. But Connie usually did know her own mind, the other half of him was saying. She certainly did know what she wanted, which was something he'd always admired in her. On this occasion, she even had a cast iron reason for wanting what she'd asked for. She trusted him to help her, to assist her in regaining the part of her personality that meant as much to her as her surgical skill. It really was an enormous gift that she had accorded him, but it also left him with a more than large amount of responsibility. If he did take her up on her suggestion, it would need to be all about her, with his own responses to the situation being for the moment entirely ignored. That wasn't a problem, it was certainly something he could handle if it was going to make it easier on her. Praying that he was making the right decision, Ric kept his thoughts to himself for the rest of the film, allowing the enchanting display on the TV to put her in the mood she so desired. 

Later on, when Connie went upstairs for a bath, Ric locked up, put a guard around the dying embers of the fire, and took a quick shower in the bathroom across from Connie's bedroom. When he appeared wearing a simple pair of black, silk boxer shorts, Connie was sitting in front of the mirror brushing her hair, the movements clearly hurting her bruised and stiffened shoulders. Silently taking the brush from her, Ric began gently removing all the knots, smoothing away any tangles until the look on Connie's face was one of utter peace. When he'd put the brush down, she stood up, wearing a simple black nightie with only shoulder straps to hold it up. Turning her to face him, Ric scrutinized her, looking for anything that might tell him this was really a bad idea. Seeing nothing but openness and need in her face, he said, "Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?" "Yes," She said, just as quietly, wanting to maintain the slightly charged atmosphere that had risen between them. When their lips met, they could taste each other's toothpaste, their tongues cool from the icy water that came from the bathroom taps. Gently slipping the straps down her arms, Ric allowed the nightie to pool at her feet, leaving her naked and delicately vulnerable before him. To anyone else, her body would have appeared bruised, battered, and not in the least attractive, but to Ric, she was beautiful, standing there before him, ready for whatever he might do for her. 

When they met under the duvet, Connie's blissfully warm body nestling against his, she said, "Why do I feel like a virgin all over again?" "Because you badly want it to work," He told her between gentle kisses, briefly wondering at what age she had taken that final step. "You really don't want to know," she said, as though reading his mind. "Well, I've always known that you were particularly precocious in that department," He told her with a smile, trying to put her at her ease. "I remember the first time I did this," He continued, thinking that if his voice really could arouse her that much, it wouldn't do any harm to use it. "You were standing there in my office, stripping off without a care in the world. That little smoke screen about not being used to having an audience, that was the first little white lie you told me, wasn't it." Connie laughed huskily, his words having the desired effect. "Acting as though you didn't want me to watch you, yet you knew I was, with every button you unfastened." "The way you stalked over to me," she said, continuing the story for him. "It was as though you were pacing round a car, or one of those race horses you used to back, sizing up the quality of the goods before you placed your bet. That predatory look you had on your face, and the thought of those powerful, yet highly skilful hands, made me wet with anticipation." "So, that's why you were so aroused when I finally got my hands on you," Ric said in realisation. "And I thought it was merely my undeniable sex appeal that had done it." Connie laughed, which turned into a groan as his hand delicately began stroking the underside of her breast. "I remember, you liked it when I did this, in fact you found it extremely difficult to keep within the recommended noise level for such an activity. You stopped me after a while, saying that you liked it too much. You'd have orgasmed just from that if I'd kept on going, wouldn't you." "Probably," She said a little unsteadily, remembering these events with the same clarity as he did. "When I saw what you had to offer," She said, wanting to take control of the story for a while. "I knew I was going to enjoy every minute of it. You are, without doubt, the largest man I've ever had the pleasure to have inside me. You made me feel fuller than I ever thought possible, and it was so nice to, just for once, find someone who succeeded at everything he did for me. Most men are good at one thing or the other, but I haven't ever not enjoyed anything with you, if that makes any sense. Even then, even though you'd only known me less than a day, it was as though you wanted to go that extra mile, to make me feel incredibly special." He was gently touching her nipples now, making her again feel that almost unbearable height of pleasure. 

"When I did this," He said, very gently trailing his hand along her thigh, slipping it between them when they widened to accommodate him. "You were so warm, so moist, so deliciously aroused, that if we'd had more space for manoeuvring, I would definitely have wanted to taste you. When I did, when you came to see me in Ghana, I couldn't get enough of you." The flood of memories that this clearly provoked, made Connie suck in a breath through her teeth, feeling the waves of lust beginning to build as Ric's hand moved on her. God, the pure, sheer ecstasy of his fingers gliding over her lubricated skin was incredible. His ability to turn her on so thoroughly, definitely made him one in a million. He slipped a delicate finger into her warm, yielding flesh, careful not to further aggravate any lingering tenderness from Christmas night. "When I slid inside you that first time," He continued. "I wasn't entirely sure how long I would last." "Believe me, your durability was thoroughly admirable," She said without hesitation. "I felt as though I'd really met my match," He told her thoughtfully, delighting in the fact that even now, even with these slightly altered circumstances, he could still arouse her almost to boiling point. "When you came, you lay there underneath me, completely spent just as I was. Just for those few moments, I got to see the softer, sweeter, far more feminine Connie that I know to really exist." As her breathing quickened, coming in fraught little gasps because of the cracked ribs, his hand sped up, finally pushing her over the edge of her pleasure with a slightly strangled cry of relief. 

He simply lay and held her as her breathing gradually returned to normal, almost overwhelmed by what he had just achieved for her. No matter what came next, or happened in the ensuing days and weeks, Connie could still enjoy being touched, she could still reach an orgasm if she felt like it. How far this liking and acceptance would stretch, Ric wasn't sure, but he did know that Michael hadn't entirely ruined that part of her life for her, which was tonight the only consideration. Seeming to realise that only she had been encouraged to reach her peak, Connie lay a gently seeking hand on his muscular thigh. "No," He told her, removing her hand and imprisoning it in his. "Why?" She asked, clearly mystified. "Because tonight was about you, and only you," He assured her, pulling her body against him and nestling his face in her hair. Connie looked exhausted, the rush of hormones clearly having worn her out. "Go to sleep," He told her, pressing a soft kiss to her slightly parted lips, and thinking that he would happily have stayed here for ever. 


	15. Chapter 15

Part Fifteen

When Ric awoke late the next morning, he felt thoroughly rested. Having spent a few nights in the same house as a wakeful baby, plus a night disturbed by Connie's dreams, he'd been pretty tired. But after her orgasm of the night before, Connie had slept entirely peacefully. But where was she? She wasn't lying next to him in bed, though the dent in the pillow where her head had been was still warm. Then, as he began to fully wake up, he heard the movement of water in the bathroom next door, telling him that Connie was probably lying in the bath. Getting out of bed, he moved to stand in the bathroom doorway, finding her reclining in the hot, bubbly water. 

"You slept well," She said with a smile, glancing up at him from under her eyelashes. "Hmm," He said with a yawn. "So did you." "I wouldn't have done, if you hadn't been here," Connie told him seriously, as he moved to the sink to clean his teeth. "Glad to be of service," He told her with a smile. "Would you care to join me?" She asked him, feeling that some company in the lapping warmth of her haven certainly wouldn't go amiss. "Are you sure?" He replied, liking the idea immensely. "Yes," She reassured him. Swiftly removing his boxers, Ric slid into the bath behind her, Connie fitting comfortably between his legs. As she leaned back against him, he adjusted her slightly so that she lay with her head on his left shoulder. Turning to face him, she kissed him gently. 

Ric found that wholly delicious as this was, he couldn't quite escape the effect that her nearness was having on him. He wasn't sure how his reaction to her would be greeted by her, and he didn't want to frighten her off by being quite so clearly aroused from having her soft, naked body nestling against him. When he gently tried to push her slightly away from him, she raised an eyebrow at him. "Does my nearness happen to be a little too invigorating?" She asked with a sly little smirk. "Yes," He told her, in that gravelly, enchantingly erotic voice that had first captured her attention. "Oh well," She said philosophically. "You do at least still find me attractive." "Connie, you will always be beautiful to me, no matter how you look," He assured her seriously, the honesty shining out of his eyes and straight into hers. "Thank you," She said quietly, the true sincerity in his words almost overwhelming her. "However, that doesn't exactly get rid of your current problem, now does it," She added with a smile, wanting to get back onto a footing she could entirely understand. But as she moved her hand to encompass his arousal, he stopped her. "Connie, you really don't need to do that," He assured her, not wanting her to do something she wasn't ready for. "I know I don't," She told him quietly. "If I for one moment thought I did, I wouldn't, but I wouldn't be averse to the idea of a repetition of last night." There was a hunger in her eyes, whether for love or for lust, he wasn't sure, but it made him see that she was deadly serious about what she wanted from him. As his hands began moving familiarly over her body, and she brought him nearer and nearer to the edge, Ric thought that but for Connie's injuries, he really couldn't be happier. 

Later that afternoon, Ric told Connie that there was something he needed to do, but that he would definitely be back later. "That sounds mysterious," She said, his evasive explanation intriguing her. "I owe someone a drink for doing me an enormous favour," He told her with a smile. "If they hadn't given into my pleading, I never would have known where to find you." "And just who did you manage to persuade to give you my address?" She asked him with a mock frown on her face. "Aha, that really would be telling, and I did promise that I wouldn't," He told her honestly. "She doesn't want to lose her job." "Tricia," Connie said without a flicker. "She always did have a soft spot for you." "Well, you can thank your lucky stars that she does," Ric said with a slight frown of his own. "Yes, I know," Connie said, looking slightly mollified, and thinking that Tricia was probably the only person in that hospital who might actually care about what had happened to her. 

Having phoned Tricia to arrange a time to meet with her, Ric strolled into the bar opposite the hospital and found her already sitting at a table waiting for him. He bought them both a drink and they sat talking for quite a while, exchanging news and catching up on all the gossip, of which Tricia knew plenty. But after a while, she said, "So, did you find what you were looking for with Connie's address?" "In a manner of speaking, yes," Ric told her evasively, not quite able to decide whether or not he should tell her what had happened to Connie. "Oh, come on, Ric," Tricia said affectionately. "You don't virtually beg me to give you someone's address without good reason, even if you are sleeping with her." "Tricia, how much do you know about Michael?" Ric asked her, wanting to see just how much she might have been able to work out for herself. "He has about as much time for his marriage vows as my daughter ever did about hers," Tricia replied philosophically. "And he uses Connie's position to drive through any new policy that looks good to the accountants, but doesn't ever work in practice. I also don't think that Connie is happy with him, but that's nothing new. Why?" "On Christmas Day, he beat her up, pretty badly. She wouldn't tell me when I phoned her on Boxing Day, but I knew something was wrong, which is why I press-ganged you into giving me her address. Seeing a patient turn up on the ward looking like that is terrible, and its something you never quite get used to seeing. But when it's someone you know, someone you're extremely fond of, it hurts you almost as much as it does them." "Ric, you can't solve everything," Tricia told him gently, briefly laying a hand over his. "Yes, it's terrible what has happened to her, and yes, you might want to take her away from it all, but you can't. Whatever Connie chooses to do about this, has to be her decision." "I know," Ric said regretfully. "I just feel pretty useless, that's all." "You know something," Tricia told him with a warm smile. "From the very first time I started working for you, back in the days when I typed your letters and did your filing, the one thing that always stood out about you, was your absolute dedication to making people better. That's why being Clinical Director could never have worked for you, because you wanted the best for the patients more than anything else. You didn't care about the trust, and you didn't care about the red tape that everyone tried to put in your way at every turn. So if you've been looking after Connie, which I'll assume you have, then you really have been doing everything you can for her. You've never done anything in half measures, Ric, which hasn't always been a good thing. But what's important about all this is that you were here when she needed you, not something that most of us usually manage to achieve." "Thank you," Ric said in amazement, feeling incredibly touch at the level of sincerity in her tone. That was the thing with Tricia he thought in slight amusement, you always got the absolute unvarnished truth from her. "Will you do something for me?" He asked her, needing to settle this point before he left for Ghana. "I have to go back in a couple of days, so will you keep an eye on her for me? Just to make sure she's all right?" "If she'll let me, I will," Tricia promised him, feeling that as Ric had been the one to remove her breast tumour over a year ago now, she owed it to him to try and look after the thing that appeared to be most precious to him, just as he had done his utmost to keep her body as beautiful as it once had been. 


	16. Chapter 16

Part Sixteen

It was a couple of days later, and the night before Ric was due to go back to Ghana. Connie had withdrawn into herself, the nearer his time for departure became. It was New Year's Eve, and as Lola was baby-sitting for her grandson, Jess and Zubin had gone out for dinner, meaning that Ric didn't need to feel guilty about spending his last night with Connie. They were sitting in the lounge, in the big armchair set at right-angles to the blazing fire, Connie nestling in his arms, as she seemed to have done so often over the last few days. Ric could see the torment going on behind her eyes, but he was entirely at a loss as to how to assuage it. He couldn't help having to go back to Ghana, and he knew she was aware of that. But he also knew that this was possibly the worst time he could think of leaving her to her own devices. 

"I wish you'd talk to me," Ric said to her gently. "What do you want me to say?" She asked him dully. "I'd like you to tell me what you're feeling," He encouraged quietly, knowing that this would be going against all her better judgment. "It all sounds so silly," She told him sheepishly. "How do you know," He asked with a smile, "if you don't even try putting it into words?" "I don't mean to make you feel guilty for going back to Ghana," She said after a short silence, thinking this as good a place as any to begin. "I know you don't, but I do." "But you shouldn't," She insisted. "Ghana is where your job is, where your life is, and here is where my job and where some of my life is. That isn't something either of us should try to change. Ric, you've probably kept me alive over the last few days, if you did but know it, and that's something for which I can't ever thank you enough. Even though I look as though I belong on my own ward, it really doesn't matter to you, and that has done me more good than you could ever know. My looks are about all I have going for me sometimes, and the thought of going back to work looking like this utterly terrifies me, but it is something I will have to do in the very near future. Even though I look like this, and even though you know what Michael did to me, you can still find me attractive, you can still be thoroughly turned on just by having me near you. That might not seem a lot to some, but it means an enormous amount to me. No, I don't want you to go tomorrow, because not having your almost undivided attention is something I really don't want to contemplate. I am loath to admit that I've needed someone else to keep me on the vaguely straight and narrow, but I have. In the last few days, I've learnt what it means to be able to rely on someone, and I suppose I'm not exactly looking forward to doing without again. Still, whoever said life was fair?" She stopped, thinking that she'd definitely said more than enough. 

Ric was incredibly touched, mainly because these were sentiments he had never expected to hear from Connie, no matter how vulnerable or temporarily clingy she might feel. She was still trying to put a brave face on it, though she wasn't making a very good job of it. He really didn't know what to say, because come back to England, back to Holby, wasn't something he felt even vaguely capable of doing, not even for Connie. Zubin had asked him the other day if he loved Connie, and he had answered with uncertainty. But if he was honest with himself, yes, he definitely did love her, but that wasn't something he thought she would want to hear. Connie was a very proud woman, a very independent woman under normal circumstances, and that incredibly destructive four-letter word would almost certainly put too much pressure on both of them. Connie could be excused for thinking she loved him, simply because at the moment she desperately needed him with her, and had come to rely on him as one does with the people they love, but Ric wasn't sure that it could last. Connie and he lived very different lives these days, in spite of their similar professions, a division that didn't allow for such a commitment. 

"Connie," He said eventually. "Just because I won't be here in the physical sense, doesn't mean that I won't be thinking about you, and it doesn't mean that I am going to feel any less for you, just because I'm thousands of miles away." "I know," She said. "I told you it was a little silly." She was mortified to realise that brief tears had risen to her eyes. Connie Beauchamp didn't cry over something so trivial, and she certainly didn't use the tears as a ploy to get her what she wanted. Threats, her body, even her money, they could all be used to turn a situation to her advantage, but not anything so pathetically feminine as tears. "I'm sorry," She said, her tone full of self-recrimination. "Crying is the only thing I seem able to do in vast quantities at the moment." "Which is perfectly understandable," He told her quietly. "No, not over something like this, it's not," She insisted vehemently. "Connie, do you really think I don't feel like this too?" He asked her honestly. "Because I can promise you that I do. I might not show it, and I might not know how best to put it into words, but I don't like having to go back to Ghana any more than you do. I badly don't want to leave you here on your own, and I certainly don't want you to be alone when Michael finally decides to put in an appearance. I would give anything to be able to take you back with me tomorrow, because then I would at least know you were relatively safe, but I can't. You need time and space to sort yourself out, and to decide what if anything you are going to do about Michael, and I suspect that my continued presence would only complicate everything. But one thing I can promise you," He added with a stern smile. "Is that if I don't receive a visit from you some time in the next few months, I will be back." Connie smiled as he said this, knowing that he meant every single word. 

When she kissed him, he could taste the residue of her tears. Whenever their lips met like this, their answering need always seemed to ignite the other, submerging them both in a rising spiral of passion that could eventually take them anywhere. So often as his lips tangled with hers, Ric had to restrain himself from uttering those three fatally cataclysmic words, I love you. It felt so natural to feel it, to want to say it, to tell her just how much she really did mean to him. But he couldn't, he shouldn't, not if he wanted to keep her with him for as long as possible. All Connie was wearing, was a pale blue silk robe, the beautiful satiny fabric sliding over her skin as she leaned closer to him. Glancing down, Ric could just see her nipples poking at the front of the robe, the low, open neck being far too tempting for him. Sliding a hand inside the robe, he delicately caressed her left breast, running a fingertip around her nipple, positively avoiding the steadily rising peak. Kissing his way over the bruises that were slowly fading on her neck, Ric briefly laid his cheek against her chest, hearing the reassuring beat of her heart. Then, parting the robe a little more, he leaned Connie slightly away from him, and gently began suckling on her left nipple, causing her to groan luxuriously in response. "Do you have any idea what that does to me?" She asked, her breathing a little unsteady. Ric laughed softly, his mouth otherwise engaged. His lips were so soft, so full, and that tongue of his so warm, that Connie felt as though her entire insides were melting on the spot. "Let's go to bed," She said after a while, wanting to be far more comfortable for whatever might come next. Taking her at her word, Ric tenderly picked her up in his arms and carried her towards the stairs. "You won't be good for anything if you keep on doing things like that," Connie told him with a laugh. "Do you want a bet?" Ric asked her, and then added, "sorry, really bad choice of words there." "As long as you don't actually mean them, I don't mind," She told him ruefully, as he put her gently down on the bed. As Ric swiftly removed his clothes, all except his boxers, Connie discarded the robe and slid under the duvet. When Ric joined her, his hands were everywhere, teasing her to the point of internal combustion. "Can I tell you a positively enchanting thought that has just occurred to me?" He asked, his hand moving languorously between her legs. "I'm all ears," She told him dryly. "I'd give anything to see you do this to yourself," He admitted a little sheepishly. "Well, how incredibly naughty of you, Mr. Griffin," Connie said a little sternly, though with a smirk playing over her lips. "However, I'm sure it can be managed, when I look a lot better than I do now. I'll do you a deal," She said, as she felt her arousal vastly increasing at the thought of showing off for him. "When I do come to see you in Ghana, I will attempt to fulfill your little fantasy." "Oh, and what is my side of the deal going to be?" Ric asked, not stupid enough to agree to one of Connie's deals before he'd heard all the terms. "Well, now, I shall have to think about that, won't I?" "You've never told me any of your fantasies," He said thoughtfully, the mountain of possibilities seeming incredible to him. "I don't want to frighten you off entirely, now do I," She said with a laugh. "I don't shock easily," He promised her, beginning to kiss his way down her body, eventually replacing his hand with his mouth. Connie had been about to tell him not to be so sure, but any such thoughts went right out of her head. Oh, god, that mouth, that gloriously languidly sweeping tongue, and those lips that nibbled at her so delicately. Jesus, she would be able to swim in her own juices in a minute if he wasn't careful, which he would probably think no bad thing. But as she began on the approach to her orgasm, she touched his shoulder to get his attention. "Ric, please, I want you inside me." Breaking off from what he was doing, Ric stared up at her. "Are you sure?" He asked, needing as much affirmation as she could give him. "Yes," She said breathlessly, pulling him up towards her. Discarding his boxers in a trice, Ric moved to lie beside her. "I don't want to hurt you," He said, thinking of the comparison between his usual size and her slight injury from Christmas Night. "I don't care," She promised him urgently. "I need this, before you go home, I need you to do this." Seeing the depth of need in her eyes, Ric gently turned her onto her side, knowing that her gradually healing ribs wouldn't appreciate having his full weight on her. Holding her against him, he carefully entwined their legs, eventually slipping inside her with a groan of appreciation from both of them. Holding her as still as possible, so as not to aggravate her ribs or her bruises, Ric slowly and deftly moved inside her, the base of his shaft rubbing continuously against her clitoris. It felt almost foreign to Connie to have him inside her again after everything that had happened, but in another way it felt just like coming home. His being there with her, consuming her in the way he knew best, that made her feel whole, feel her true self once more. When they carefully rocked themselves to a climax, they both knew that this wasn't simply the inevitable outcome of an hour or so in bed. This was a meeting of souls, a colliding of spirits, making them one being in that final moment of completion. 


	17. Chapter 17

Part Seventeen

New Year's Day, the day of Ric's departure, proved to be Connie's foray back into the outside world. Ric had asked her if she would come with him and Jess to the airport, and after a few moments thought, Connie had agreed. If Zubin had intended to come with them, she certainly would have refused, but he had been forced to go into work at the last minute. "I may as well make the most of you," She said with a tentative smile, and he could see just how hard she was going to find saying goodbye to him. 

When Jess arrived driving Zubin's car, with the baby asleep on the backseat, Ric frowned. "I'd forgotten he'd been teaching her to drive," He said almost disgustedly. "She took her test just before Christmas." "We've all got to learn sometime, you know," Connie told him affectionately, seeing the mark of a true father in his level of scepticism. When they went outside to the car, Jess got out to greet them, her smile slipping just for a moment when she saw Connie's face, the bruises still in evidence. "You can drive to the airport," She said, handing the keys to her father. "Why?" He asked, taking them from her. "Because if I drive, you'll spend the entire journey criticising." "I'm your father, I'm suppose to criticise your driving," Ric told her fondly. Jess sat in the back with the baby, and Connie took her place at Ric's side. Connie didn't say a word as they drove, feeling very much on the outer fringe of the situation. Seeming to sense her unease, Ric took her hand in his, holding it as he rested his own on the gear stick. Ric and Jess talked as he drove, both of them making an effort to stick to anything resembling light conversation, both of them highly aware of Connie's discomfort. When they arrived at the airport, Ric locked the car doors and handed Jess the keys. "You want to be careful driving with him in the car," He said, gesturing to the baby in her arms. "Yes, I know," She said as though she'd heard this a dozen times before. "Anyway, when I was little, you'd drive with god knows how many of us in the car at one time." "That's different," Ric said evasively, the policy of every father throughout the world being do as I say, not as I do. Putting his case onto a trolley, he tucked one of Connie's arms through his, and they began walking towards the check-in desk. 

A good while later, the time was fast approaching when Ric would have to say goodbye to both of them. Connie felt extremely inhibited having Jess there, because there were things she wanted to say to Ric, but which she certainly didn't want to say in front of Ric's daughter. When they reached the barrier, the final point that they could accompany him to, Jess moved off to one side at a slight glance from Ric, to give them some space. When he put his arms round her, Connie clung to him, just for those last few moments showing her grief for his going. "Promise to write to me," She said, unable to keep the tears out of her voice. "Only if you do the same," He told her with a smile. "I want to know what happens with Michael. I know you think you know what you're doing where he is concerned, but please just be careful. I know it might be going against your better judgment, but you do have friends who will help you if you ask." "You told Tricia to keep an eye on me, didn't you," She said with a fond smile. "I had to make sure someone would," He replied all too seriously. "Ric, I'm sorry that you've had to put up with all this," She said, feeling immensely guilty that she had so successfully eaten into his time with his daughter. "All I care about," He told her with feeling. "Is that you are safe, and well, and happy. So, I want you to go home, and not even think of going back to work until you really are ready for it. You're not going to be able to do any operating for quite a while until those ribs heal, so make the most of it and stay away from prying eyes. Promise me to at least try to take good care of yourself." Pulling her flush against him, he kissed her lingeringly, not caring in the least that they were in the middle of a busy airport. Eventually breaking off from her, he gave his daughter a hug. "Look after Connie for me," He said, hating the fact that he had to leave like this. "You don't ask much, do you," Jess said with a smile. "And don't let this little one pick up any of my bad habits," He added, briefly touching the baby's face. "Dad, give me some credit, he's only six months old," Jess protested mildly. Giving Connie one last kiss, Ric turned away and walked through the barrier, looking back so as to catch sight of them for as long as possible, before the crowd eventually blocked his view. 

When Ric had finally disappeared, Jess touched Connie's arm to get her attention. Connie looked lost, cut adrift, sincerely as though her one support mechanism had been brutally torn away. Tucking Connie's arm through hers and hitching the baby up slightly in his sling, Jess turned round and they began walking towards the exit, making a little detour into the nearest cafeteria. Connie hadn't seemed to notice where they were, until Jess gently pushed her down into a chair. "You look like you could do with a cup of tea," She said, removing the baby sling and putting it down on the seat next to Connie. "Please," Connie replied quietly, trying her damnedest to return to the land of the living. Whilst Jess stood at the counter paying for two cups of tea, the baby woke up, seeming to sense that his mother had briefly left him. As his screwed up little face began searching everywhere for some sign of human contact, Connie reached over and placed her finger into his tiny hand. Instantly, he clenched his fist around her finger, giggling in delight and making Connie smile. When Jess returned with the tea, and saw that her baby was awake, she said, "He's probably hungry. Do you mind if I feed him?" "No, not at all," Connie replied, pouring milk into her tea. Sitting down opposite her, Jess picked him up and discretely undid her blouse. "I couldn't help thinking," Connie added with a smile. "When he was looking for you, that he really does have his father's frown." Jess laughed. "Zubin always looks like that after a board meeting." Seeming to realise just who she was talking to, Jess went quiet, both women taking the time to savour their tea. "Dad loves you," Jess said suddenly, not entirely knowing where this had come from. Putting her cup back down on the tray, Connie regarded her thoughtfully. "Yes, I know he does," She said eventually. "Connie," Jess said carefully. "Don't do to him what Sam did. She was the last woman Dad seriously fell for, and she was quite like you in some ways. She was pretty, and Dad really thought she was the one, or at least the fifth one, but like you, she also had the ability to be extremely manipulative, and she could wind dad round her little finger. I'm not saying that's how he was hooked this time, because you only need to look at you to see that you've genuinely needed him, not something Holby's Medical Director probably admits lightly. All I'm saying is, don't use what he feels for you for your own ends, and don't take advantage of just how much he would think of giving up for you." There was a slightly stunned silence, and Jess briefly wondered if she'd burned all her boats of possibly returning to her old job in a few months time. Connie was speechless. She had expected to be warned off by Zubin, but not by Jess. For a start, she wouldn't have expected Jess to have the guts to do something like this. But then she wasn't exactly being warned off, just asked to treat Ric's feelings with care and respect, something she had every intention of doing anyway. "When did you start to grow up?" Connie asked eventually, feeling that this was as good a question as any. "When I realised that I'd lost my dad his oldest friend," Jess said regretfully. "Until Dad found out, I was living in Cloud Cuckoo Land. I thought that just because I thought there was nothing wrong with what we were doing, that Dad had to simply accept it. I didn't see until it was really too late, that I was taking away the one bit of support network he'd ever had. I can't ever give that back to him, and quite how he's managed to stay on the straight and narrow without it is beyond me. Dad's always been there for me, always giving me money even when he couldn't afford it, always forgiving me for making a complete mess of my life. But all I did was to throw it back in his face, and no matter how hard I try, I won't ever be able to make that right again." 

As Jess drove Connie home, Connie couldn't help but wonder what Zubin would think of all the things Jess had said to her. He would probably tell her that she was being sucked in by Connie's spell, just as Ric had been. Seeing him again certainly was going to be an experience, never mind their brief conversation the other morning over her pain relief. She supposed that he would steadily avoid meeting her eyes, in fact he probably wouldn't even look at her, trying to live up the pretence that he didn't know of what had happened to her. Well, she supposed that would be easier than his actually confronting the issue. When they arrived back at Connie's house, Jess reached into the glove compartment and handed Connie a small package. "Zubin got you some more of his wonder drug," She said, handing it over. "Tell him it's been a life saver," Connie replied, gratefully taking it. "And tell him I said thank you, though that might just be too much of a shock for him." 


	18. Chapter 18

Part Eighteen

A few days later, Connie decided that it really was about time she went back to work. Her ribs were still protesting, and her face still looked as though it had been through the mangle, but she couldn't think up any more even vaguely plausible excuses. Still not trusting herself to drive without crashing, she took a cab to work, and took the lift up to Darwin Ward with the feeling of approaching her own execution. She'd tried to cover up as much of her face as possible with make up, but she knew it hadn't been an unmitigated success. Praying that everyone would simply ignore the fact that their boss looked far too much like a battered wife, she approached the nurses' station with a certain level of caution. 

The first person she saw was Lisa, who stared at her with ill-concealed curiosity. "What happened to you?" Were Lisa's first unemphatic words of greeting. Opening her mouth to deliver some highly scathing remark, Connie realised that she didn't have even the beginnings of an excuse for her appearance. Coming to her rescue, Tricia called over, "It's good to have you back. Some of the staff might not have missed you, but the patients have." Breaking into a slight smile at Tricia's assertion, Connie bypassed Lisa's enquiry. "Anything enormous happen while I was away?" She asked, moving over to where Tricia was going through a load of patient files. "A couple of your operations were postponed because of viral infections," Tricia told her, after having taken the merest glance at her boss's face. "So they will have to be rescheduled whenever you're ready for them. Otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary." 

Just then, Zubin came striding down the ward, sorting through a heap of files as he walked. Catching sight of Connie, he skidded to a halt, staring in horror at her still fairly battered face, only barely concealed by her make up. "Nice to see you too, Professor Khan," Connie greeted him dryly. She might have known he would react like this, staring at her with his mouth agape, as though he'd never seen a beaten up woman before. "How are you?" He asked her quietly, not entirely knowing how to deal with her in this situation. Yes, Ric had told him how she looked and what had happened to her, and Jess had also given him her opinion, but that was nothing to actually seeing her in the flesh. Through the open collar of her silk blouse, he could just make out the faint impressions of bruises on her throat, and the mental image of what had happened to her made him shudder. "I'm alive," She replied a little stonily. "Which is more than I can say for the next person who looks at me as though I'm some new endangered species. Anyone would think you all hadn't seen a few bruises in here before. Now, about this morning's list." "Connie, you can't seriously be thinking about operating?" Zubin protested. "I don't see anyone else here who can, do you?" Connie replied belligerently, eager to get back to what she did best as quickly as possible, no matter how much agony she might be in. "Connie, you cannot operate with cracked ribs," Zubin hissed at her, trying to lower his voice a little. Just as Connie was about to retort that she could do whatever she pleased in her own hospital, Chrissie appeared, took one look at Connie, and unthinkingly said, "Wow, you look as though you had a pretty eventful Christmas." There was a stunned, awful pause, as Zubin and Tricia took in what Chrissie had said. Whirling round on her heel, and barely suppressing a gasp of pain as she did so, Connie demanded over her shoulder that Zubin join her in her office, now. When she had gone, Chrissie asked, "What have I said?" "Isn't that obvious?" Zubin told her disgustedly. "Where do you think Connie got all those bruises, plus dozens more that aren't on display for all to see?" When Chrissie didn't answer, Zubin filled her in. "She got them from her husband. You know, the man you were sleeping with last July, so perhaps that might show you how lucky you are that Connie found out about that. If she hadn't, and if you'd still been sleeping with him, that could so easily have been you. Hopefully that might teach you to be a little more careful in the future." Marching off towards Connie's office, Zubin left Chrissie staring after him in aghast astonishment. "That's good, sound advice you have there," Tricia told her quietly. "So I'd take it if I were you." 

Walking into Connie's office without knocking, Zubin found her stood with her back to him, with the window wide open as she smoked a cigarette. "Don't say it," She told him, glancing over her shoulder to see who it was. "I am temporarily blind," Zubin replied dryly, sitting down in the chair in front of her desk. "But I must insist that you are in no fit state for operating on anyone." "Thank you for the vote of confidence, Professor Khan, it's really much appreciated," Connie replied a little acidly. "Connie, you know I'm right," He told her gently. "That doesn't mean I have to like it," Connie said on an exhalation of smoke. "I'm running out of excuses enough as it is." "Why are the excuses so necessary?" Zubin asked. "Nobody would doubt your word of what has far too clearly happened to you." "Zubin, it is quite bad enough that you know about this, and believe me, I would give my Munnings and My Stubbs for you not to be aware of every salient detail. But to have every other individual I work with aware of the situation would be even more intolerable than all the enquiries are now." "Why is pride so important to you?" Zubin asked, genuinely intrigued. "We've all got to live on something," Connie said philosophically, ditching her cigarette end out of the window and turning to face him. "And at the moment, pride is the only way I'm going to get through this. So, as I can see you won't let me near my own theatre, though quite what you think gives you the right is beyond me, Lola can operate, and I can observe, pointing her in the right direction. Will that make you happy?" "Happier," He grudgingly agreed. "But don't try to push yourself too hard." "And don't you try to overstep the mark," She warned him quietly. 

When it was nearing lunchtime, and Connie was feeling that a cup of tea and a sit down certainly wouldn't go amiss, she was standing in the middle of the ward, going through a patient's post-operative pain relief with Zubin. They had worked fairly amicably all morning, something Connie admitted to finding quite a relief. When Tricia approached them, she looked slightly uncomfortable, as though the news she had to bear was something she would rather avoid. "Connie, there's someone here to see you," She said quietly, breaking in on their conversation. Hearing a note of warning in Tricia's tone, Connie turned round to glance in the direction of the Nurses' station, seeing Michael stood there as though nothing had changed, as though his being there to see his wife was perfectly acceptable. "What do you want me to do with him?" Tricia asked, breaking in on Connie's contemplation. "Put him in my office," Connie told her stonily. "And I'll deal with him in a minute." When Tricia had gone, Zubin moved to lay a hand on her shoulder, but Connie flinched away from him, all her defences shooting up at the prospect of actually talking to Michael again. "Would you like me to be there?" Zubin asked her quietly, not really knowing where this offer had come from. Connie laughed bitterly. "Believe me, Professor Khan, this isn't going to be a conversation you want to hear." "Connie..." He stopped, not really sure what to say in the circumstances. "I'll be fine," She told him stonily. "This had to happen at some point, so it may as well be now." Signing her name at the bottom of the patient's file, she handed it over to him, and walked thoughtfully towards her office. 

Going in and closing the door behind her, she saw that Michael was sitting very stiffly on her leather sofa. "Well well, this is a nice surprise," She greeted him coldly. "To what do I owe the distinctly dubious pleasure?" "I wanted to see how you were," He told her quietly, his eyes rising to scrutinize her bruised face. "Like the look of your handiwork, do you?" She taunted him silkily, moving to lean on the edge of her desk, so that she was facing him. Glancing round at the blinds that she had purposefully left up, so that everyone could see into her office, he said, "I feel as though I'm in a goldfish bowl in here." "You'd feel a hell of a lot worse, if I were facing you across the table in the visiting room," Connie replied bitterly. "Which we both know is precisely where you should be. So, did you really come back to see how I was, or did you come back to find out whether or not I was still alive?" "Connie!" He sounded shocked, hurt and thoroughly insulted. "Don't sound so tragically aggrieved, Michael, because dead is what I certainly could have been. As it is, you are incredibly lucky, that I didn't suffer any internal injuries that might have forced me to seek medical attention, other than that which I received at home." "Oh, from Griffin, I suppose?" Michael put in nastily. "Quite right," Connie told him bitterly. "So you see, I do have a witness to how I looked only hours after you beat the living daylights out of me, a witness who would be delighted to testify for me if I should so desire it." "Connie, you can't," He insisted vehemently. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just angry. You kept throwing Griffin's prowess in my face. Any man would have reacted like that after hearing the things you were coming out with." "A real man wouldn't have done," She told him blithely, willing to take such a risk because she knew that whatever he might attempt to do to her in here, it would all be seen by any number of her staff. As her eyes lifted to the glass, she saw Zubin moved to stand outside her door, acting as though he was waiting to see her, but probably there to be of any help should his assistance be required. "What do you want from me?" Michael asked her dejectedly, knowing that she must have something up her sleeve. "A divorce for a start," She replied curtly. "And your resignation from the board for seconds. After today, I don't want to see you anywhere near this place again. I want you to go home, and remove everything that you don't want me to burn. You even think of going back on this deal, and I'll have you banged up in a cell, quicker than Sr. Williams managed to put her clothes on, after I caught her in bed with you, and as I'm sure you'll remember, that really was pretty swiftly. So, do you accept my terms, or are you willing to take your chances in a court of law?" Michael shuddered, his face going white at the thought of being put in prison, with all those worthless individuals, and of being brought up before a jury to justify his actions of Christmas Day. "No, I didn't think you would," Connie told him sweetly, seeing the colour positively draining from his face. "I'm sorry," He said, sounding more pathetic than she'd ever heard him. "You're not sorry, Michael," She said resignedly. "You're sorry that I found someone to satisfy me far better than you ever could, and you're sorry that at last, I've found something worth holding onto, but you're not sorry that you hurt me. If you were, it wouldn't have taken you nearly a fortnight to come back and face the music. Now get out, and I don't want to see hide nor hair of you again." 

As Michael stumbled from the office, looking utterly shell-shocked, Connie walked round the desk and sank gratefully into her leather swivel chair. She was exhausted, in pain, and wanting nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep, or at least to bury herself in Ric's strong arms. But he wasn't here, and she wouldn't see him for at least a couple of months. Zubin watched Michael exit Connie's office, and gave him a look of such disgust and loathing, that Michael had no doubt that too many of Connie's staff now knew of his Christmas misdeeds. But as he walked towards the lift, a young nurse he didn't know, who's name badge proclaimed her to be Donna Jackson, walked into him, spilling the bowl of vomit she was carrying all down his perfectly immaculate suit. Frowning at her in complete disgust, Michael strode towards the lift, scrubbing at his clothes with a handkerchief. "Well," Donna said, looking at the stunned faces around her. "The suit's got to be as evil as the man that's wearing it. That's what I say." Zubin couldn't quite believe what he'd just seen. Laughing silently to himself all the way back to his office, he couldn't help but admire Donna's ingenuity. 

A little while later, Tricia made Connie a mug of tea, and took it into her office. "I thought you could probably do with this," She said, putting the mug down on Connie's desk. "Thank you," Connie replied tiredly, absent mindedly picking it up and taking a swig. "How's the gossip fountain out there?" "Well, I think Donna's just given them all something else to talk about," Tricia said evasively, wondering how Connie was going to react to this. "Let's just say, that I think she managed to give Michael something to remember this place by, something that might just make him not want to come back here in a hurry." "What?" Connie asked ominously, wondering what on Earth Donna had done. As Tricia filled her in, Connie's face broke into a broad smile, with a laugh beginning deep in her chest. "Oh, god, I wish it wasn't such agony to laugh," She said eventually. "But I wish I'd seen his face." "It's far less than he deserves," Tricia said quietly. "Yes, I know," Connie replied seriously, her laughter immediately abating. "But as long as he does what he's promised to do, and stays away from me, that's all that matters." 


	19. Chapter 19

Part Nineteen

It was two months later, Valentine's Day to be exact, and Ric was tired from a long day at the hospital. One thing he found in this job was that too many people died far too often, and usually because they couldn't afford the treatment he was desperate to give them. But all that was over for one day, to start again tomorrow. As he walked out to his car and drove the few miles home, his thoughts inevitably strayed to Connie, as they usually did at this time of the day. It had hurt him immensely to see the pain she was in at Christmas, and to know that there was very little he could do about it. It had also made him blistering angry that any man could treat his wife or any woman so abominably. He knew that if he'd come into the slightest contact with Michael Beauchamp, he would have beaten him to a pulp, which wouldn't have helped the situation in any way. Her body had been so battered and bruised, and her spirit so broken, that all he'd wanted to do was to hold her and protect her for the rest of her life. Ric was under no illusions about his feelings for Connie. He knew that he loved her, and he also knew that she would probably never entirely reciprocate the depth of his affection for her. He didn't let it bother him, because he was happy to have as much of her as she felt able to give, without pressuring her for any more. 

When he drew up at the back of his house, sliding his car into his usual space, his thoughts were still in England with Connie. What he could really do with now, he thought to himself, was the feeling of her soft, beautiful body in his arms, but he supposed it wasn't to be. Rounding the corner of his house, he approached the porch, and stopped in total astonishment. Sitting on the wicker seat on his porch, with a book in her lap, was Connie. Words failed him as he stared at her, briefly wondering whether or not she was really a figment of his overactive imagination. "Is it such a shock?" She asked with a gentle smile. Coming out of his reverie, Ric walked up the steps towards her. She had a hold all by her feet and rose to greet him as he approached. "I feel as though I've somehow conjured you up," He said in wonder. "Not quite," she said, putting her arms round him. "Just thought I'd drop in." Ric laughed. "Connie, you can hardly come half way across the world just to drop in on someone." "Why not?" She asked. "It seemed like a good idea, today being what it is." "It's years since I've had to remember it," He confessed with a smile. "I can't believe you're here," He said, slowly lowering his lips to hers. "Well, you'd better start believing it," She told him quietly. "For about a week anyway if you've no objections." "None whatsoever," He said in that firm, gravelly voice she knew so well. 

When they went inside, Connie stated that after such a long flight, she definitely needed a shower. Heartily tempted to join her, though foregoing the pleasure this once, Ric said he would see what he could find them for dinner. When she reappeared, wearing nothing but a thin, silk robe, his eyes swept over her appreciatively. Ric was chopping salad, and had removed some fish from the fridge to put briefly under the grill. "You look incredible," He said, handing her a glass of wine. "A lot better than I did at Christmas then?" She asked dryly. "Much," He couldn't help agreeing with her. "I assume the ribs have healed?" "Yes, everything's pretty much back to normal. Well, excluding the state of my marriage." "You said in your letter that you'd seen Michael, but you were unusually evasive about the outcome." "Probably because I knew you wouldn't be very pleased with me," She said a little sheepishly. "I gave Michael a choice: either he grant me an instant divorce as well as his resignation from the hospital board, or I hand him over to the police. You can guess which one he chose." "I wouldn't have bothered even talking to him," Ric said stonily, his residual anger plain for her to see. "Putting myself through the indignity and humiliation of a trial, wasn't something I really wanted to contemplate," She told him seriously. "Far too many of my skeletons would have come out of the woodwork, and Michael would somehow have smarmed his way into a not guilty verdict, which would mean it had all been for nothing. Far better just to get him out of both my professional and personal life for good." "It's your decision," Ric said noncommittally, though Connie could see he didn't agree with her. "I didn't come here to talk about Michael," She said quietly. "As far as I'm concerned, his despicable existence is dead and buried, and I'd like him to stay that way." "I'm sorry," Ric said in contrition. "I suppose I wanted him to somehow have a taste of his own medicine." Putting the knife down on the chopping board, he put his arms round her and kissed her. "I can't help wanting to protect you," He said softly, wanting to tell her so much more, but thinking that she might not want to hear it. 

There was so little between her body and his wandering hands, that it surprised neither of them when they ventured inside the robe. "I've missed your skin," He told her between soft and gentle kisses. "The way it's so fresh and soft, and so, edible," He added, slightly hesitating over the last adjective. Connie laughed huskily. His hands glided over her breasts inside the robe, gently grazing over the steadily rising nipples. "I don't think I've felt like this since Christmas," Connie admitted to him a little unsteadily. "And there was me having fantasies of you keeping yourself entertained," Ric said dryly. Then, seeing the thoroughly wicked smirk on his face, Connie asked, "Precisely what do you have in mind, Mr. Griffin?" "You'll have to wait and see," He promised silkily, sinking to his knees and parting the robe even further. As he kissed his way up her left thigh, Connie leaned back on the kitchen unit, knowing that in another minute her legs would barely be able to hold her up. He briefly laid his cheek against her extremely flat belly, taking in the subtle, familiar scent of her skin. Gently parting her legs, he began dropping feather-light kisses over her labia, for the moment avoiding the pinnacle of her clitoris. But when he inched his tongue into her entrance, she gasped, the sight of him on his knees before her making her feel incredibly naughty. This was Ric, one of the most sexually skilful men she'd ever known, on his knees before her giving her the most wonderful feeling in the world. Her hand dropped lightly onto his head, her fingers running through his thick, black hair. The early evening sunlight that was streaming through the open door, glinted off the occasional wisps of grey in his hair, showing her that he wasn't perfect, he was human, just like her. She hadn't asked him to do this, but here he was, in the most submissive position he could adopt for her. That tongue of his was so warm, that it set every one of her nerve endings on fire. He had his hands on her hips, lightly holding her in place as his mouth drove her closer and closer to the edge. When she came, her whole body tensed, followed by the shudders of aftershock coursing through her veins. 

Getting to his feet, Ric put his arms round her and kissed her. The intensity with which she went after her own taste surprised and gratified him. "One would be forgiven for thinking that you'd like to do that for real," He said, almost groaning at the thought. "I did once," She amazed him by saying, a cheeky little smile on her face. "Really?" He said incredulously. "At university. It seemed like a good idea at the time." As Connie retied the robe and Ric slid the fish under the grill, he couldn't help but wonder the obvious. "Do you still find women attractive?" He asked, not entirely sure how to phrase this question. "Sometimes," She replied unselfconsciously. "There was a midwife not long ago, Mickie Hendry, who I couldn't help flirting with, because she had the most enormous crush on me imaginable. However, she is only twenty-two, and I wouldn't want to corrupt her so far innocent spirit." "That's almost as bad as Jess and Zubin," Ric said with a sardonic smile. "Which is why I didn't pursue it," Connie said firmly. 

As they ate their dinner, Connie didn't think she could possibly be happier. Here she was, with the man who had cared for her after Michael's assault, and whose ministrations on her body could make her see stars. She was away from the hospital and all its pointless politics, and all she need do for the next week was rest, sunbathe and definitely swim. Surely nothing could happen to spoil this haven of contented bliss. 


	20. Chapter 20

Part Twenty

The next day, a Friday, was a particularly bad one for Ric. An endless stream of patients had been through the hospital, and too many of them had left in unadorned wooden coffins. Two of these had been little children, one barely two-years-old. It had broken Ric's heart to be unable to save the life of this tiny little girl, something he had just about managed not to show to the baby's parents. He had left Connie at his house, soaking up the sun and taking a well-deserved rest from her usual run of operations and board meetings. What Ric knew he needed at the end of his horrific day was to go home, have a large drink and maybe a joint, and to take comfort in Connie's soft embrace. He'd been overjoyed to see her sitting on his porch the day before, sitting there as though she had a perfect right to be there. He loved her way of assuming that he would want her there, her total disregard for the possibility that he might have had plans for his evening. She had been utterly sure of a warm welcome, something he would have given her no matter when she had arrived. But he wasn't sure that he could offer her much in return for her solace tonight. Connie was an extremely sexual woman under normal circumstances, and on any other occasion he would have had no problem in matching her still youthful exuberance, but not tonight. He was too depressed, too miserable by the day's events to please her in that way, not something he cared to admit lightly. 

They swam, cooked and ate dinner, and sat in companionable silence listening to some music. But Ric had barely spoken, not something to go unnoticed by Connie. She could see that something had happened at work today, something that had deeply upset him, but she wanted to give him the space to talk about it in his own time. She was perfectly happy to wait, letting him sort out his thoughts at his own speed. She wanted to offer him comfort, but she could also see that he didn't want to ask for it. He surprised her at one point by taking and lighting one of her cigarettes, instead of rolling himself a joint. But then she figured that if he were already depressed, cannabis wouldn't do him all that much good, being a drug that usually enhances whatever mood is there to start with. They were sitting in-doors because of a sudden downpour of rain, and Ric had one arm along the back of the sofa, occasionally playing with a strand or two of her hair. His brows were knitted in a frown, his thoughts obviously away in far darker recesses. When the hour grew late, Connie rose to take a shower, the heat not having been lessened all that much by the rain. But when she returned, Ric was in exactly the same position as before, sitting at one end of the sofa, a cigarette between the first two fingers of his right hand, and staring off into space. Seeing that the cigarette was about to drop ash all over the leg of his trousers, she gently took it from him and stubbed it out in the ashtray. "Come on," She said, softly touching his hand. "You should go to bed." Making an effort to rouse himself, Ric looked up into her kind, concerned face. "I haven't been very good company this evening, have I." "That's all right," Connie told him gently. "We all have bad days from time to time." As Ric took a shower, Connie emptied and washed the ashtray and their glasses, locked the front door and switched off the stereo. 

When he eventually joined her in bed, she moved into his arms, her silky soft skin nestling up against his. "Connie," He said tentatively, really not sounding sure of himself at all. "I'm afraid I really don't feel in the mood for pleasuring anyone tonight, not even you." "I know," She said quietly. "And I'm not expecting you to." She had her arms round him and her head on his chest, and he knew in that moment that he didn't want to be anywhere else in the world. He wasn't sure why, but he hadn't expected her to be quite so understanding of his lack of interest in her, but she had. 

"What happened today?" She finally asked, thinking that he might now be ready to talk about it. "Virtually everyone seemed to die on me today," He explained. "Including two very young children, and all because we don't have the equipment or the drugs to keep them alive. The nurses and junior doctors expect me to perform miracles, and trying to convince them that I'm not the Almighty in different clothes, seems to be something of a lost cause. Somebody asked me where the oxygen was today, and I had to tell them that it was in the air around us, that oxygen cylinders were a thing of richer countries, and not something ever to be purchased over here. Then there are the people who beg us to help them, but if they don't have the money, we're not allowed to give them the time of day." Connie simply let him talk, because all the injustice of his situation needed to come out. "And then I had a visit from my wonderfully tactful brother, who couldn't help but point out today's blatant lack of success. He resents the fact that I stayed over in England for so long, and he resents it even more that I did that because of Lola. Going by my father's and brother's way of thinking, I should have insisted that Lola come back here with me, rather than giving her the choice. One isn't supposed to take one's woman's views into consideration," He said bitterly. "Anyway, seeing Cumi this afternoon got me thinking. Connie, no matter how long this thing, between you and me goes on, I'll probably end up hurting you, and I don't want to do that." Connie had been tracing a gentle pattern along his left arm with her fingers, but at his words of utter certainty she stopped. "What are you saying?" She asked, not wanting to hear it but knowing she must. "I'm saying that I'm not good enough for you," Ric told her, hating the fact that he had to do this to her. "I'm saying that no matter how different from my father I have tried to be over the years, I'm no better than him when it comes down to it." "Considering that I know absolutely nothing of your father, I can't possibly agree with you," Connie told him a little curtly, her sharpness covering up her fear that he would try to end this thing they had between them. "My father gambled away virtually every penny we had, leaving my mother barely anything with which to feed or clothe us, and let's face it, I was hardly much better as a husband or as a father. Granted, I didn't impregnate half the women in the local community or give any of them HIV, or leave any children unrecognised, or conceive any children when I wasn't married to their mothers, but that hardly makes me any better. Throughout my entire childhood I vowed again and again not to be anything like my useless, waste of space of a father, and what did I do? Allow a gambling habit to completely take me over, obtain more wives and children than I could ever support, and utterly fail to be there for any of them." Coming to the end of his tirade, Ric seemed to slump back into the pillows. 

"I don't think Jess would agree with you," Connie told him quietly, thinking of the conversation she'd had with Jess after Ric had left to go back to Ghana just after Christmas. "After you'd walked away in the airport, Jess could see I was flagging, so we went and had a cup of tea. She said some enlightening things to me that afternoon, but the most important thing being a direct order for me not to treat you in the same way that Sam Kennedy did." "Sam," Ric said in astonishment. "There's a name I haven't heard in a long time." "Well, Jess told me that Sam had been pretty similar to me, in that she was pretty and had the ability to be very manipulative. Jess ended her little speech by telling me not to use how you felt for me for my own ends, and not to take advantage of how much you would think of giving up for me. Now, that doesn't exactly sound like a daughter who doesn't appreciate everything her father has done for her, does it." "Jess wasn't always so protective," Ric said with a slight frown, though inwardly marveling at his daughter's guts in saying something like this to her boss. "Over two years ago now, I went to the casino at the end of a shift, because I owed Lisa some rent money and didn't have it. I was sharing a flat with her and Jess at the time, not an experience I'm eager to repeat. Just for once, I won, but Jess was furious. She knew that I must have got the rent money from the casino, and we had what was probably the worst row I've ever had with Jess. It ended with her raiding my wallet and cutting up my credit cards. Jess despised me that night, because I didn't have the willpower to give up something that had destroyed every single one of my marriages. Quite why Lola agreed to marry me a second time is anyone's guess. She knew what I was like, knew how unreliable I was, but then we had another child on the way, so maybe that was it." "It's always possible that she still loved you, you know," Connie told him with a smile. "It does happen, or so I'm told." "What is there to love?" Ric asked her, without a single hint of a smile on his face, showing her that he was being deadly serious. "An awful lot," Connie told him firmly. "You have an enormous capacity in you to care, not something many men have. You usually put someone else's feelings before your own, even if that isn't in your best interests. As a surgeon, you have more determination to succeed in you than I've ever witnessed in anyone, every ounce of which is centred purely on the patient, and not on the brownie points it might gain you in the long run. Yes, you do have weaknesses, but so do we all, and yes, you do sometimes need help in controlling them, but again, so do the rest of us. Given what you've just told me about your father, and the expectations placed on you by your family, you should be incredibly proud of the man you are, not dismissive of what you have to offer anyone, just because you have a genetic disposition to a gambling addiction." Ric was stunned. Never, not even from Diane, had he heard such words of encouragement and faith in his position as a fellow human being. 

When her lips touched his, he held her tightly to him, as though afraid that she might leave at any moment. "I love you," He said, when they eventually came up for air, though he wished it hadn't managed to slip out so easily. "I know you do," She told him gently, seeing that this also had been weighing heavily on his mind. "How do you know?" He asked, slightly astonished by her answer. "Your daughter filled me in as to that little detail," Connie told him with a smile. "As though I didn't know already. I am neither blind, deaf, nor stupid, Ric." "I didn't want to put any pressure on you," Ric told her seriously. "I know," She said, dropping a gentle kiss on his lips. "And you haven't, I promise. But if you want me to be honest," She said a little hesitantly. "I don't think I can put how I feel about you into words. It's not that I don't love you, because I think that part of me does, but I also think that I need time to get over other things, before I can give even part of myself to anyone again." "And that is perfectly understandable," Ric told her gently but firmly. "Connie, it's only two months since what happened at Christmas, barely any time at all to sort out how you feel about that and all its repercussions." "There is also far too much that you don't know about me," Connie told him seriously. "And I don't want you to go on feeling the way you do, under what may possibly be false pretences." 


	21. Chapter 21

Part Twenty-one

"You don't do anything under false pretences," Ric replied, utterly sure of himself. "Don't I?" Connie asked him. "Well, not most of the time, no, I don't. But I can't allow you to go on feeling the way you do about me, without having told you a few things first." "I'm well aware that you're not perfect, Connie," he told her with a smile. "You have the ability to verbally rip people's skin off that on a regular basis goes way too far. Jess was right, you are as manipulative as Sam, though you're far better at it than she ever was." "And that's a good thing?" Connie asked, slightly bemused at the complementary tone in his voice. "Well, if you're going to do a thing, at least you usually have the decency to do it properly." Connie's lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. "Even I usually managed to see straight through what Sam was trying to achieve." "There was so much of me that I kept from Michael," Connie said regretfully. "That half the time I wonder if that was why our marriage failed. There was so much that he didn't know, things that he would have run a mile from knowing." "Connie," Ric said to her tenderly. "Just because Michael never once attempted to see behind the mask you wear day in day out, doesn't mean I will automatically do the same." "I know," Connie protested. "But I don't want to lose what we have now, because it's far too precious to me to throw it away in a moment of complete insanity." "Connie, I promise you, there isn't anything you could tell me that is any worse than putting the family's next week's food money on a horse which then promptly lost." Connie laughed bitterly. "I'd say that being the reason why your baby died was far higher in the stakes of bad parenting, wouldn't you?"

There was a long, very charged silence. "I'm sorry," Connie said quietly. "I didn't mean it to come out like that." She tried to wriggle away from him, to put some space between her and the man who must now loathe her very presence. But Ric put out a hand to stop her, touching her arm and gently pulling her back to lie against him. "Tell me what happened," He invited softly, seeing that this wasn't something she could easily talk about. "I was a bit, what you might call wild when I was sixteen," She began hesitantly. "Got involved with entirely the wrong group of people. There wasn't much I didn't try from various narcotics to different sexual positions. When I discovered I was pregnant, my father threw me out. I suppose that for him, it was the last in a very long line of straws. I kept using, even though I knew I was pregnant. I'm not sure why, except that oblivion seemed to be far more preferable to actual existence. I spent different nights with different men, though quite which one of them was her father is anyone's guess. I was doped up on coke when she was born, which meant that she was withdrawing from everything under the sun. She only lived a few hours, and I didn't even give her a name. I did absolutely nothing for my daughter, but she did one thing for me, she made me grow up. I can't ever forgive myself for being the reason why she died, because I don't deserve to be forgiven for it. Michael always thought that I wouldn't have children because I didn't want to ruin my career, but what he doesn't know is that I couldn't ever go through that again. Connie Beauchamp might be as strong as an ox when dealing with most people, but not when being forced to face her one, real failure." 

Ric lay with her in his arms, listening to the words of bitter torment that poured from her lips. Her ruthless desire to be strong, her absolute determination not to be weakened by anyone was now explained. She had been right not to confide this event to someone like Michael, as he would no doubt have used it against her in some way, in private if not in public. But Ric couldn't think badly of her. She had been sixteen, that most vulnerable of all ages for such influences as she had been coaxed to endure. "Connie," He said quietly, tilting her face up so that he could look her in the eye. "Nothing, about what you have just told me, makes you a bad person." "Don't be ridiculous," She said disgustedly. "Of course it does." "Connie, tell Zubin what to think by all means, but it won't work on me," He told her with a smile. "I don't think any less of you, not in the slightest." "Well, you should," She told him belligerently. "We've all made mistakes, some of us huge ones," He told her seriously. "And though it often means very little, we have both tried to make up for them. I personally think that you've made a far better success of this than I have, but that's not an argument I'm willing to have with you right now. Connie, underneath all that bitterness and steel that you wear like a designer dress, there's this soft, warm, loving woman that I think I am getting to know. That's the part of you I see when I look at you, not the armoured exterior you show to nearly everyone else." Connie had never heard words like this addressed to her, because Michael had never gone in for the verbal way of showing his feelings for her, if he had really had any in the first place. Yet here she was, lying in Ric's arms, being told how inwardly beautiful she was as well as on the outside. Could she believe it? Could she really take any of his words seriously? Only time would tell. 


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: The song lyrics come from Baby you belong, and Beautiful, both by Faith Hill. 

Part Twenty-two

It was Sunday evening, and the sun was slowly setting over the sea, making the horizon appear to be made of melted gold. Ric had borrowed his brother's boat that day, and they'd gone out to sea, and bathed naked under the blazing sun. They'd taken food and wine, kept cool in the boat's tiny refrigerator. They'd made love in the water, and on the deck of the neat little boat, their hunger for each other seeming insatiable. Connie's body was slowly turning a beautifully rich tanned colour, and she was feeling more alive than she had in so very long. Ric had briefly fallen asleep after they'd made love on the boat, and Connie had delighted in watching the relaxed features smile peacefully as he slept. All the cares in his world were temporarily banished, leaving him thoroughly content. 

When they'd returned home in the early evening, Connie had gone to take a shower while Ric tied up the boat and made it secure for the night. She'd stood under the spray, washing away all the salt, and thinking that she couldn't possibly have found somewhere more idyllic to be. But she couldn't stay here, not forever, she knew that, and she couldn't ask Ric to return with her to England. Here was his natural habitat, just as England was hers. But that didn't mean she couldn't allow herself to love what she had with him when she was here. She knew he loved her, he'd said so only two nights ago, and she also knew that he meant it with all his heart and soul. She knew that she felt a great deal for Ric, but was it love? Did she really feel that all consuming depth of need for him as he clearly did for her? She didn't think so, at least not quite on the same level as he did, but she did feel something very similar. She felt a need to protect him, a need to care for him, and a need to be with him. The driving force of her lustful passion for him certainly matched his every step of the way, and she knew that if anything ever happened to him, it would carve her in two. Was this love? Was this what love was supposed to be? She hadn't ever loved Michael in that sense, so she wasn't sure. She had thought she loved Michael in the beginning, but had then realised that she had only been in love with him, which certainly hadn't provided the necessary foundations for a long and lasting relationship. But with Ric, she was forced to admit that it was different. 

She was quiet when she got out of the shower and put some clothes on, her thoughts endlessly turning in her brain like the bottomless pit of a whirlpool. Whilst Ric took his own shower, Connie began putting away the things they'd taken on the boat with them, washing the glasses they'd used and putting the remains of the wine in the fridge. Thinking that some music might help her thoughts to settle, she put on a CD, immediately realising that the song that was playing was one she knew, and that it almost perfectly fitted how she really felt. 

"There's a reason why, you can look up every night, and every star, in heaven is in its place. There's a reason why, the full moon pulls the tie, and the waves roll into a shore that always waits." 

As Connie began to sing these words, it was as though all her feelings were coming to the fore, leaving the confined space in her head to give her the freedom to really express them. She was only vaguely aware of her voice as it formed these beautiful words, but they seemed to be saying everything she had been trying to say for the past few days. 

"Baby you belong, baby you belong. Nothing's ever been so good to me, or ever felt so right to me, every single part of me believes: Baby you belong, baby you belong. There really is no mystery, I think anyone can see that baby you belong, with me." 

Ric had heard the music begin as he stepped out of the shower, and when he heard Connie's voice unexpectedly join in with the singer's, he stood perfectly still and listened. The words were so descriptive and so enchanting, and for her so truly expressive, that he silently moved into the lounge to listen to her more clearly. He could see her moving about in the small kitchen area of his flat, putting away the detritis of their day on the boat. She looked so at peace with herself, so soft and thoroughly unguarded, that he knew he mustn't under any circumstance interrupt her. But as he listened to her sing the words of the chorus, telling him how she felt, telling him all the things she had been longing to say, it almost brought a hint of moisture to his eyes. So, Connie really did feel something other than simple lust for him, something that only the words of a song could explain for her. 

"There's a voice inside, and I heard it promise me, when you came along, I'd know you by heart. Like a familiar song, every word is telling me, that the time has finally come, and now here you are, and I know for sure:

Baby you belong, baby you belong. Nothing's ever been so good to me, or ever felt so right to me, every single part of me believes: Baby you belong, baby you belong. There really is no mystery, I think anyone can see that baby you belong, with me." 

Whether it was the smell of his aftershave, or the simple awareness of someone she knew she was growing to love, Connie suddenly became aware of his presence. Turning swiftly round, she saw him standing in the bathroom doorway, with a towel wrapped around his hips, and a thoroughly love struck expression on his face. Connie blushed slightly when she realised he'd been listening to her singing, but she didn't say a word. Instead of ruining the moment as any words might have done, she put down the glass she'd been drying, and walked over to him. Standing in front of him, she simply looked into his face, their eyes exchanging all the hitherto suppressed feelings that they'd both been afraid of revealing. As his arms went out, hers went up around his neck, and they held each other tight. No words needed to be said, because the song had said it all. They did belong together, at least for now, but would the different paths their lives were taking allow them to realise this epiphany. As the next song on the CD began, they started to dance, their limbs further expressing what their mouths could not. 

"I love the way you stand in my way, you won't move till you get a kiss, and how you tell me that my name tastes so sweet upon your lips. I love the way you hold me with your eyes, hold me so tight that I can't move. It's like everything I've ever known is alive, and you're the simple truth." 

These words were actually spoken rather than sung, but it made the feeling between them all the more intense. Their bodies moved so skillfully together, that it felt like a reenactment of their earlier lovemaking, their bodies moving together in perfect syncrony, never again to be parted by distance or time. 

"I love how soft you touch my skin, like you're touching the wings of a butterfly. I wish we could just lock ourselves away in a room, where there was no such thing as time. I've never let anyone get this close, I've always been afraid, but you break down every wall and yet I feel so safe." 

Connie knew this to be true. No person before Ric had managed so successfully to break down all her barriers, yet with him she didn't seem to mind. It had made her feel free of her walls, free of her fears and at one with herself. As they danced on and on, still not speaking so as not to ruin the romantic, sopporiphic mood, Connie simply prayed that this feeling between them would not die. 


	23. Chapter 23

Part Twenty-three

They'd both slept soundly on the Sunday night, and Connie had driven Ric to work on the Monday morning. He'd asked her to do this so that she could use the car while he was at work. Connie did drive around the city for a while, becoming a little more acquainted with its eccentricities. But when the sun began to get hot in the middle of the day, she drove back to Ric's house to sunbathe. 

As she lay in her favourite spot along the beach from his house, she reflected on the evening before. She hadn't told Ric she loved him, because even now she wasn't sure enough that she did, but he had seen something in her eyes as they'd danced, something that told him everything she was feeling. Her entire soul had been open to him while they danced, not something that had ever happened with Michael. With him, she had always felt a need to guard her feelings, to keep something in reserve for the times when Michael tested every ounce of her self-esteem. But with Ric she didn't need to do this, because unreliable as he might be, he would never betray her soul, never leave her dangling in limbo waiting for the other shoe to fall. 

She had been lying on the beach for about half an hour, when she distantly heard the phone ringing. Ric had finally got round to installing a phone in his house before Christmas. Connie ran back along the beach, her body pouring with sweat from the midday heat by the time she got there. Taking a moment to regain her breath, she picked up the receiver. "Connie?" Zubin said in surprise when she answered. "Professor Khan," Connie replied. "I wondered if that was where you'd gone," Zubin said sounding slightly distracted. "Where's Ric?" "At work," Connie told him. "Sorry it took me a while to answer, but I was sunbathing a little way down the beach. Can I give him a message?" "Connie, he needs to come home," Zubin told her, sounding suddenly bleak. "What's happened?" Connie asked him immediately. "Erm, Paris," Zubin said hesitantly. "He died." "Oh, Zubin, no," Connie said in obvious distress, picking up the phone and moving with it towards the sofa. "Yes," Zubin said simply. "He caught meningitis. We don't know where and we don't know how, but nothing they tried to do worked." "I'm so sorry," Connie told him. "The thing is," Zubin tried to explain. "I don't think that I'm what Jess really needs right now. She needs her father." "And who's taking care of you, Zubin?" Connie couldn't help asking. "I'll survive," Zubin replied flatly, not sounding remotely sure of this fact whatsoever. "Don't worry about Ric," Connie told him. "I'll bring him home, tonight if I can get plane tickets in time." "Thanks, Connie," Zubin said dully. "In the meantime," Connie said firmly. "Don't you dare go anywhere near work. I know you, Zubin, and you'll be keeping yourself busy at the earliest opportunity. But you need to grieve, just as much as Jess does." 

After reserving them seats on the early evening flight out of Accra, Connie put on some clothes, got in the car and drove to the hospital where Ric worked. Delivering bad news to relatives was often part of her job, and she nearly always managed to do it with complete professionalism, but this was different. This was Ric, her lover and her friend, and she had to tell him that his grandson had died. She thought back to her first trip out to Ghana, when she had brought news of the baby's arrival. Well, now she would be taking him news of the baby's untimely death. Bringing the car to a stop in the hospital car park, she stared up at the building ahead of her. How did she do this? How on earth could she go in there now and say the words to bring part of his world crashing down around him?

Ric was sitting in his office, trying simultaneously to eat a sandwich and bring various patient files up to date. When the tap came on his door, he bade the person to enter without a second thought. When he saw that it was Connie, he smiled. "This is a nice surprise," He said, getting up from behind his cluttered desk. "Sit down," Connie told him, and the flat, though heavily laden tone of her voice made him wary. "What's happened?" he asked, nevertheless taking her bidding and sitting back down in his chair. "I've had a call from Zubin," Connie said quietly, gradually working up to her bombshell. "Zubin," Ric replied, not yet putting the pieces together. Then, as the connections in his brain finally met, he said, "Is it Jess? What's happened? Is she all right?" "Jess is fine," Connie told him gently but firmly. "Well, physically anyway. Ric, it's Paris, he, erm, he died." Ric stared at her in total shock. "What do you mean, he died?" He asked, his voice quiet though with the hint of rising incredulity. "Babies don't just die, Connie, so what happened?" "He contracted meningitis," Connie told him regretfully. "Babies don't have to die from meningitis, not these days," Ric insisted vehemently, unable to take in what she was trying to tell him. Leaning over his desk, Connie caught both of his hands in hers, and thumped them down on the stack of papers in front of him. "Listen to me," She told him, her own voice a little unsteady with emotion. "They tried everything possible but it simply wasn't enough. Your grandson is dead, and right now, your daughter needs you." Ric was silent for a while, his hands still resting in hers. "I'll have to see if I can get a plane ticket as soon as possible," He said eventually, his voice devoid of all feeling. "It's done," Connie said quietly. "We're getting the six o'clock flight." 

Before they left to return to his house, Ric caught up with his brother Cumi. "You'll have to cover for me for a while," He told him succinctly. "I've got to go to England for a few days, perhaps a week or so." "What's happened this time?" Cumi asked uninterestedly. "Jess and Zubin's child is dead," Ric told him coldly. "So I should imagine you can do without me for a while." As Ric turned about to walk away, Connie gave Cumi one of her ice maiden looks that would send most people into therapy at the earliest opportunity. "Who's the lady?" Cumi called after Ric. "This, is Connie," Ric told him, briefly glancing over his shoulder. "A woman with more human decency in her than you will ever know." 


	24. Chapter 24

Part Twenty Four

The flight was long from Ghana to Holby, and at one point, Connie found herself drifting off to sleep. Ric put his arm round her, and moved her head against his chest. He could smell the combination of perfume and cigarette smoke in her hair, and it comforted him to be surrounded by something that was becoming so familiar. He needed this bit of quiet time, to allow his brain to come to terms with what she'd told him. Paris dead, Jess and Zubin's child dead, his grandson dead. How did he begin to help Jess, or Zubin for that matter through this? He hadn't known about Leo's baby when it had happened, yet when he'd found out it had completely floored him. How, in that case, was he going to deal with it this time? How did he begin to console his daughter for a loss that no mother should ever feel? He had openly loathed the idea of Jess and Zubin together when he'd initially found out about them, but that didn't mean he'd ever wanted anything like this to happen to them. 

After about an hour's sleep, Connie's eyes opened, and she briefly wondered where she was. There was the reassuring sound of Ric's heart beating in her left ear, and she could feel his chest rising and falling under her cheek. "Sorry," She said, lifting her head and looking him in the eye. "It's all right," He replied, gently stroking her face. "I wish I could sleep." "Ric, I don't know what to say," Connie said regretfully, totally at a loss as to how to comfort him. "That must be a first," Ric commented dryly. "Yes," Connie agreed with a slightly nervous laugh. "How am I supposed to get Jess through this?" He asked, his one main thought coming to the surface. "I don't know," connie told him softly. "Just being there will help, I'm sure. I think Zubin will appreciate it too." She leaned over to kiss him, her soft, beautiful lips making him feel temporarily content. 

When they arrived at the airport where Connie had left her car a few days before, it felt as though it was two in the morning, though it was in fact nearer eight as a result of the time difference. "What do you want to do?" Connie asked as she got behind the wheel. "I don't know," ric said helplessly. "Let's go home," Connie decided for him. "And you can go to sleep, or have something to eat, and phone Jess and Zubin when you're ready." It was a relief to him, that she was making such minor decisions for him, because the logical part of his brain seemed to have shut down. 

When they reached her house, Connie shivvered slightly at the cold interior. Lacking anything like the energy to make up the open fire in the sitting-room, she switched on the central heating and filled the kettle for coffee. After dropping his bag in the hall, Ric slumped in a chair at the kitchen table as he watched her spoon Nescafe into mugs. Connie could see that he was flagging, and when she placed a mug in front of him, she stood leaning against the kitchen unit to drink her own. Reaching for an ashtray out of the cupboard, she lit herself a cigarette, the nicotine coarsing down to her lungs and increasing her energy ever so slightly. Ric drank most of the coffee hardly without noticing how hot it was, his eyes staring off into space, and his thoughts clearly far away from where he sat. Taking the empty mug from his hands, connie said, "Come on, you need some sleep, we both do." Making an effort to rouse himself, he followed her up the stairs. 

when they were eventually huddled in her large four-poster bed, the thick, goose-feather duvet keeping out the winter February chill, his arms went about her and he held her to him. "Thank you," He said, softly kissing her, both of them tasting of the coffee they'd drank downstairs. "What for?" She asked with a gentle smile. "I don't know," He said ruefully. "Just for being you." Connie laughed huskily. "I've never been thanked for just being myself before," She told him with a yawn. "I mean it," He assured her. "go to sleep," She told him quietly, not sure how to respond to something quite so sincere. But, she mused to herself as his eyes began to close, Ric was going to need her in the next few days, and it was up to her that he made it through them in one piece. 


	25. Chapter 25

Part Twenty-five

Connie slept for an hour or so, but in truth she couldn't really rest. Too many thoughts were whizzing round and round in her brain. How was Ric going to deal with losing a second grandchild? Did she have the inner strength to support him through it? And perhaps uppermost in her mind was the question of whether or not all this would make him start gambling again. Connie wasn't sure that she could deal with that if it did happen. Did she, Connie, have what it took to keep him away from the roulette wheel? She didn't know. 

When she at last got out of bed at around ten thirty that morning, after having only really dozed since nine, Ric was still thankfully sound asleep. He needed all the emotional strength he could muster for the next few days, so he may as well sleep while he could. Grabbing herself a fast, hot shower, she began to feel a little more human. Going downstairs afterwards, she made herself another mug of hot, strong coffee. Picking up the cordless phone, she dialled Jess and Zubin's number. 

"It's Connie," She said when Zubin answered. "Where are you?" He asked, sounding as tired as she felt. "Here, in Holby, we got back this morning." "Thank you for bringing him back," Zubin said sincerely. "How is he?" "Asleep, at the moment, but pretty shell-shocked." "He isn't the only one," Zubin said bleakly. "Jess seems to have given up talking." "Zubin, are you all right?" Connie asked, and then could have kicked herself. "Sorry, stupid question." "I'm just about managing to keep a lid on things," Zubin said evasively. "Zubin, if there's anything I can do, anything at all, just say the word." He could hear the slight rise of emotion in her voice and it touched him. This was Connie Beauchamp, the hardest nut in the business, sounding as though she might be about to cry, and all because she didn't know how to help him, the man who had once been her greatest rival. "Thank you," He said, really meaning it. "Just bring Ric over when he wakes up. I'm hoping that he'll have better luck with Jess than I'm currently doing." "All right," Connie replied quietly. "But just remember that you both need to grieve." 

When Ric awoke around lunchtime, he at first couldn't work out where he was. The air was very different to that in Ghana, which meant that he must be back in England. But what on earth for? He could smell Connie's perfume on the duvet, which meant that he was lying in her bed. Then, as his muscles began gathering up the energy for him to move, he remembered. He was back in England, because Jess and Zubin's baby, little Paris, was dead, dead and gone. As he scrubbed his entire body under the shower, and cleaned his teeth till his gums were almost raw, he tried to sort his thoughts out into some sort of order. He'd barely spoken to Connie since she'd given him the news about Paris, and he was incredibly grateful to her for simply allowing him to do things in his own time and in his own way. But now he had to pull himself together, to put all of his thoughts back in their proper places, ready for seeing Jess and Zubin this afternoon. 

When he appeared in the kitchen, Connie was heating up some home made chicken and vegetable soup. "You look slightly more human," Connie commented when she saw him standing in the kitchen doorway. "Not sure if I feel it," Ric said, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. "Are you hungry?" Connie asked. "Possibly," He replied, not entirely sure that he could stomach anything at the moment. "Well, you won't be any good to anyone if you don't eat," She said kindly, getting a second soup bowl out of the cupboard. As he sat down at the kitchen table, she placed a bowl of the steaming soup in front of him, and then filled one for herself. She watched him as they ate, and couldn't help worrying about the look in his eyes. They were dull, lifeless, as though all the happiness had gone out of his world. "I rang Zubin," Connie told him. "He'd like you to go over when you're ready." "How are they?" Ric asked, reflecting that Connie certainly could make good soup. "Zubin sounds exhausted, and he doesn't seem to be getting through to Jess." "What makes him think that she'll talk to me?" Ric said ruefully. "You're her father, of course she'll want to talk to you," Connie assured him. "She and Zubin probably need a bit of a break from each other." 

Later that afternoon when Connie drove them over to Zubin's house, she spared a thought to wonder what type of house Zubin would live in. He was such a stilted man most of the time, that she couldn't immediately imagine what his living environment would be like. When they arrived, Zubin opened the door before they could ring the bell. "I think Jess is asleep," He said by way of explanation. "So I don't want to wake her." Zubin looked terrible, Connie couldn't help thinking. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he hadn't slept for days, and what hair he did have looked as though he'd been running his fingers through it interminably. "How are you?" Ric asked as they moved into the kitchen. "Oh, you know," Zubin said evasively. "I was just going to take Jess a cup of tea. Do you want one?" As he attempted to make the tea, Connie could tell that his thoughts were entirely somewhere else. When he almost dropped the carton of milk out of sheer distractedness, Connie removed it from his hand and said, "I'll do it. Go and sit down. You look exhausted." When she'd poured the tea, she handed a mug to Ric and said, "Why don't you go and see your daughter?" Taking the mug from her hands, Ric gave her an appreciative smile. "Connie looks as though she's keeping you on the straight and narrow," Zubin commented dryly as Ric moved to obey Connie's suggestion. "She is," He said, walking up the stairs. "I do try," Connie said fondly, thinking that her uphill struggle was only going to get harder. 

In the bedroom, Ric found his daughter dozing on one side of a large double bed. Putting the mug down on the bedside table, he gently touched Jess's shoulder. When she turned over and opened her eyes, staring up into the face of her father, she said, "Dad?" As though unsure that he was really there. As Ric sat down on the edge of the bed, putting his arms out to her, she clung to him, the tears she'd tried to suppress finally rising to the surface. All Ric could do was to hold her as she wept, his own throat constricted by grief. When she'd calmed down a little, she moved slightly back from him to dry her eyes. "When did you get here?" She asked in a choked voice. "This morning," He told her. "Connie let me sleep for a few hours before driving me over here." "Connie's here?" Jess asked in surprise. "She's downstairs with Zubin." "Dad, what am I supposed to do?" She asked him in bewildered helplessness. "Me and Zubin don't know what to say to each other, we haven't even begun to arrange anything for the funeral, and I can't even be bothered to get out of bed." "That's what grief does to you," Ric told her regretfully. "It eats at you from within, until you don't know who you are any more. I'm here, I'm sure that Lola's here somewhere, and I think even Connie would be there if either of you wanted her to be." "She had to tell you about Paris, didn't she?" Jess asked, knowing that it was Connie that Zubin had spoken to the day before. "Yes," Ric replied sadly. "And I think it was one of the hardest things she's ever had to do." "You need her, don't you, dad," Jess said thoughtfully. "Yes, at the moment I do," Ric responded without hesitation. "Just as you and Zubin need each other, and I never thought I'd hear myself say that," He added with a slight smile. "You must try to talk to Zubin," Ric urged her gently. "Because he isn't going to get through this without you." 


	26. Chapter 26

Part Twenty-Six

A long time later when Ric and Connie were on their way home, Ric broke the heavy silence with, "There's something I need to do. I want to see him." Slightly swerving in response to his unexpected wish, Connie fought to keep her eyes on the road. "Do you think it will do you any good?" She couldn't help asking, privately thinking that Ric had gone through quite enough stress and heartache for one day. "No, I don't think it will do me any good in the slightest," He told her ruefully. "But it's something I need to do, almost to hammer home to me that this really is happening." "Okay," Connie said understandingly. "If that's what you want." 

As they neared the hospital, Connie put through a call to the mortuary, informing them that a relative wished to view Paris Griffin's body. These cold clinical words made Ric flinch, but he knew that she had to do it, to warn them in advance so that his grandson's body could be laid out in the slightly less clinical viewing room. He had often escorted relatives down there himself, something that had been required of him many times during the years he had been practicing medicine. Dealing with grieving parents, friends, siblings, had simply been a part of his job, just as breaking the initial news that their loved ones were dead had been. But now here he was, feeling everything those grieving relatives had felt, a combination of disbelief, anger and the merest beginnings of acceptance. Were any of his future grandchildren destined to live long enough to reach their first birthday? Two hadn't made it so far, so what hope did that give the rest of that generation of his family? All these thoughts swam in and out of his mind, so that it was something of a surprise when he realised that they were coming to a stop in the hospital car park. 

As they traversed the long, endless corridors, Ric slightly slowed, briefly wondering if he really could go through with this. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Connie asked, sensing his thoughts. "I have to do it," Ric told her bleakly. "I think I need to see him in order to really believe it." They encountered Lola at one point, making Connie inwardly groan with annoyance. "Eric," She said as they appeared, not greeting Connie in the slightest. "You came back quick." "I came back to be with my daughter, and my friend," He told her firmly, the addition of friend making Connie give him a small smile of praise. Ric had tried his damnedest to put aside his feelings on Jess and Zubin's relationship, so much so, that he could again voluntarily describe Zubin as his friend, if only to keep Lola quiet. "Have you seen them yet?" She asked, walking alongside them. "Yes, this afternoon," Ric told her. "And are they still as bewildered and disorganised as they were yesterday?" "They are grieving parents, Lola," Ric said a little exasperatedly. "What do you expect?" "Things need to be sorted out, Eric," She said quietly but practically. "Things like the funeral, for instance. They badly need help, the both of them, yet they won't accept it when it's offered." "I think you need to give them time to do things in their own way," Connie told her a little sternly. 

Lola left them shortly after this and they made their way down to the hospital mortuary. The viewing room contained nothing medical, nothing clinical, except a long table covered with a white sheet. When they were shown in, there was a tiny form on the table, lying under a clean white sheet. Approaching the table almost hesitantly, gently drawing back the sheet from the little boy's face. Connie moved back out of his line of vision to give him as much space as he needed. Ric stared down at this tiny eight months old face, the face of a child he had barely been able to know. The only time he had spent with this child had been at Christmas, and now he was dead, never to grow into the inquisitive toddler with temper tantrums, or the teenaged adolescent who would be surly and insolent for two or three years. Never would he be able to make his parents proud of his achievements, or be able to be thoroughly spoilt by his grandparents. Putting out a delicate finger, Ric ran it down the child's cheek, the skin feeling cold and hard to his touch, but also infinitely smooth. The baby skin was still there, though colder and dryer than it ever should have been. Wrapping the sheet around the little body, he picked him up, holding his grandson in his arms for just one last time. 

Connie watched him as he did this, and it gave her an almost physical pain to see the desolation in his eyes. Ric cradled the baby against his chest, gazing down into that once smiling face. Seeing him do this, reminded her all too painfully of her own child, the one whom she hadn't even given a name. This little body looked far too similar to how her daughter's had looked, when they'd brought her to see her after they'd tried everything to keep her alive. This baby in Ric's arms might be bigger and more developed than hers had been, but the similarity was striking. Did all dead babies look the same, Connie wondered, even though she knew that they all looked different in their own way? When Ric finally put the child down, covering his face back up with the sheet, Connie moved forward, took his hand in hers, and led him out of the room, both of them heavy of heart and utterly devoid of speech. 


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Listen to Eva Cassidy's album Imagine whilst reading this. 

Part Twenty-seven

When they'd returned from the morgue, Ric went upstairs for a long, hot bath. He needed the time to let his thoughts wander, to dwell on what he was now supposed to do for his daughter and his friend. As he lay in the deep, hot water, he couldn't escape from the memory of how tiny that little boy had looked on the mortuary table. His flesh had been so cold, so hart and unyielding, so utterly dead. Part of him also felt dead he realised, dead inside from all the hurt he had caused and endured over the years. But here he was now, in a temporary haven of peace with Connie. She hadn't caused him any hurt, nor had he her. But how long this would last he couldn't possibly say. 

At one point when Connie brought a cup of tea up for him, he wasn't entirely sure what to say to her. "You look very thoughtful," She said, putting the mug down on the corner of the bath. "I feel as though today has lasted for years," He said, unable to believe that they'd only arrived back in Holby that morning. "I know," She said, gently stroking his cheek. Holding her hand in place for a moment, he gazed up at her, unsure as to how to tell her what she meant to him right at this moment. Instead of trying to formulate any sort of phrase, he turned his lips to gently kiss the palm of her hand. "Come downstairs when you're ready," She told him softly, feeling unbearably moved by such a simple gesture. 

When he eventually dragged himself out of the bath and went downstairs, she had made up the open fire in the sitting room, and was thoughtfully smoking a cigarette. "Do you feel better?" She asked, kicking herself for the stupidity of the question. "Not really," He replied, sitting down in the armchair at right angles to the fire. "If it doesn't sound too melodramatic, I feel dead." "Whether it is melodramatic or not," Connie said matter-of-factly. "It's how you feel." Getting up from the sofa, Connie moved to put another log on the fire, and as she moved away to sit down again, Ric caught at her hand, gently pulling her towards him. As she slid familiarly onto his knee, it occurred to her that what he really needed was someone to hold, to have someone close to him who actually cared about him enough to give him what he needed. It also seemed as he held her that he was now perhaps ready to talk. 

"Do you remember how furious I was when I first found out about Jess and Zubin?" "As if I'll ever forget," Connie said dryly. "That was the most professional looking black-eye I'd seen in a long time." "I was so angry," He said with feeling. "That a man my age could have slept with my daughter, and if that wasn't all, made her pregnant. He looked so pathetic when he was struggling to tell me, as though he wanted to shrink away from what he'd done, which I suppose in a way he did. He tried to justify it, saying that they couldn't help it, as if that was ever any excuse. I felt as though he'd completely betrayed everything our friendship had ever meant to me. I was so angry with him for getting her pregnant, as though neither of them knew any better. Before that, when Zubin and I had argued over his not telling me about Leo's baby, I'd made him promise that there would be no more lies. He assured me that I could still trust him, when he was harbouring something far worse. After that, it meant that I could no-longer trust him, not with anything. Yet when Paris was born, all I wanted was to see him, and get to know him as he grew up, do the one thing I hadn't been able to do with Leo's baby. But, because I was living and working in Ghana by then, I only got to see him for a few days, when he was already six months old, and now he's dead. Is that my fault, Connie? Did that happen because yet again, I wasn't around to support one of my children when they most needed me?" "No, of course it wasn't," Connie told him gently but vehemently. "You did your best with the situations that were made available to you. Paris didn't die just because at first you loathed the idea of his parentage. That was a perfectly natural reaction, and you've done everything possible to try to rectify that breakdown in trust, when it certainly wasn't you who caused it in the first place." 

They talked on in this vain for some time, Ric trying to find answers that Connie wasn't equipped to give him. "I'm sorry," He said after a while. "What on earth for?" Connie asked him, surprised. "You don't want to hear all this." "Would I be sitting here like this if I didn't?" She asked him fondly. "No, I wouldn't. So please, don't worry about it." After gently kissing him to hammer home her point, she said, "I think you need some way of relaxing." "Some hope," Ric said bitterly. "Ah, well, you've never had one of my massages, have you," Connie replied confidently. "One of your specialities, is it?" Ric asked dryly. "These hands weren't just made for mending broken hearts, you know. I can do things with tangled muscles that you could only dream of." "I don't doubt it," He said fondly, thinking that it wouldn't do him any harm in the slightest to be treated to some of her ministrations. 

Leading the way back upstairs, Connie told him to remove all his clothes as she located what she wanted. When she returned to the bedroom, he had pushed back the duvet and was lying on his stomach on the bed. Switching on the little stereo on her dressing table, Connie inserted a CD that she knew would only add to the atmosphere. Ric was a little surprised to hear the dulcet tones of Eva Cassidy, but then Connie's prerogative appeared to be surprising him at every turn. Removing her own clothes so as not to get massage oil on them, Connie joined him on the bed and opened the bottle of oil. A wonderfully sopporiphic aroma of lavender and gardenia filled the air, making Ric breathe in appreciatively. Pouring some onto her hands, Connie began at the base of his neck, untangling all the tense fibres she could feel under her fingers. Ric didn't make a sound and neither did she, both of them allowing the music and Connie's hands to speak for them. As she moved gradually onto his shoulders, Ric knew that he didn't ever want to leave this languid limbo, it being so utterly restful compared to the rest of the world he inhabited. He could occasionally feel the graze of Connie's breasts on his back as she leaned over him to place the bottle of oil on the bedside table, but he couldn't have become aroused if he'd tried, he was simply too tired. After removing every possible knot from his shoulders, she moved down his left arm and then his right, piecing back together the muscles that were usually so firm yet supple, instead of being as hard and unyielding as rock as they were now. Her fingers often moved in rhythm to the gently flowing music, her hands playing him like a highly complex instrument. He could feel each tendon of his back being dealt with separately, being put back into its rightful place as she went. Her fingers were so nimble, her hands so delicately strong, that he marvelled at the things she was achieving with his strung out body. If he had been in a better mood, he mused to himself, she would be making him feel at least ten years younger. But as his brain had nothing to do, again and again it returned to the injustice of his grandson's death. He had been attempting to suppress his emotions all day, and to a greater extent he had succeeded. But when he heard the words of the next song on the CD, he could no-longer keep a hold on his grief. 

"Imagine there's no heaven, it's easy if you try. No hell below us, above us only sky. Imagine all the people, living for today." 

God, but he'd give anything for the world to be like that, for there to be no pain, no possibility of the pain he and Jess and Zubin were feeling right now. 

"Imagine there's no countries, it isn't hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too." 

Why did this have to happen? Why did little Paris have to die when he had everything in the world to live for?

"Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can." 

As the tears finally came, Ric briefly thought that he would have given every meagre possession he had to keep Paris alive. Even if he had been a part of a relationship he had originally despised, he had still been part of him, part of Ric Griffin, whatever that might have meant. 

Connie had almost finished her traversing of Ric's body, when she felt a shudder run right through him. Looking up from her task, she saw the barely perceptible shake in his shoulders. This brought tears to her own eyes, because he was trying desperately hard to hide his grief from her, when all she wanted to do was to help him in any way she could. Putting the top back on the bottle and placing it on the bedside table, she lay down next to him, and gently tried to turn him towards her. He allowed her to do this, even though he badly didn't want her to see him cry, because he needed to cling to something, someone, anyone who would understand his grief. Connie didn't say a word, because words were not necessary for the comfort he needed. She held him as he clung to her, the hot tears running helplessly down his face. She kissed his cheek, tasting the salt from his tears, and ran her fingers soothingly through his hair. When he slightly shivered, she reached for the duvet, pulling it over them and trying to curl herself round him, to keep him warm as they gradually drifted off to sleep, the mental and physical exhaustion of the last day or so finally catching up with them. As the music softly died away and the CD reached its end, the two lovers slept, deeply if not soundly, with one hurdle over, but with the hardest ones yet to come. 


	28. Chapter 28

Part Twenty-Eight

When Connie awoke the next morning, Ric was still sleeping soundly beside her. It would do him good, she thought as she showered and dressed, to sleep for as long as possible. Sleep was the best cure for grief or depression of any kind. She made herself some toast and a mug of coffee, knowing that she had to go into work today. Connie wasn't stupid enough to think that Ric would now be all right, after his emotional release of the night before. She knew that there was far worse to come, but she didn't entirely know how she would deal with it when it came. As a precautionary measure, she went into her home office on the other side of the hall to the lounge, and scribbled a note that she then stuck to the monitor of the computer. "If you're thinking of using this computer to gamble, don't." She didn't like having to do this, but she knew that it certainly could be necessary. Even if he ignored her message, it would take him hours if not days to work out her password. She knew that if he discovered her precaution, she would likely be greeted with a furious argument when she came home, but she supposed this was the price of caring for someone just a little too much. 

Making Ric a cup of tea, she went upstairs to let him know where she was going. Perching on the side of the bed, she gently shook his shoulder. Turning onto his back, Ric gradually surfaced up from the depths of sleep. "I just wanted to let you know that I've got to go into work," Connie told him when his eyes eventually focussed on her. "What time is it?" He said with a yawn. "Almost nine o'clock." Leaning down to put her arms round him, she asked, "Will you be all right today?" "I'll survive," Ric said dryly, breathing in the heady scent of the perfume she always wore. "I like that perfume," He told her, his deep, gravelly voice making her want to take off all her clothes and join him under the duvet. "Mmm, I know you do," She said with a smile, softly kissing his cheek. "I'll see you later." 

All day as she moved from operation to ward round to endless meetings, Connie's thoughts kept straying back to Ric, and what he was doing, what he was thinking. She could feel his depression weighing almost as heavily on her as it was on him, because she could only guess at what would probably be the ultimate outcome. She had to continuously stop herself from phoning him just to check up on him, just to see if he was all right. She supposed he would spend some of the day with Jess and Zubin, and she found herself praying that this would take up all of the spare time he had until she returned home. 

Ric slept for a good while longer after Connie had left, finally waking to feel thoroughly rested. He still felt lethargic and miserable, but he supposed this was entirely normal. He couldn't believe he'd cried so much last night, almost shrinking from the realisation that Connie hadn't said a single word, but had comforted him in the only way she knew how. He had revealed one of his weaknesses to her, and he wasn't sure how much he really approved of his having done something like that. She had cradled him against her, soothing away his torrent of grief in complete yet comforting silence. As he showered and made himself some coffee, he wondered what he should do with the day. Picking up the phone, he called Jess and Zubin. Jess answered, and told him that they had to go and choose a coffin that afternoon, and she added that she would quite like Ric to come with them. Thinking of nothing he would want to do less, Ric agreed, wanting to give his daughter as much support as she wanted. 

This took most of the afternoon, as did other arrangements that needed to be put in place for the funeral. Both Jess and Zubin were trying their hardest to deal with things as best they could, but Ric knew that it was his presence that was currently keeping them going. When they eventually dropped him back at Connie's, he felt on edge, strung out, and badly in need of an outlet. Connie had given him a spare key to her house, so that he could come and go as he pleased. When he let himself in, it slightly comforted him that the house seemed to smell entirely of Connie. It was an aroma he was coming to know far too well, if such a thing was possible. Seeing that Connie had left her cigarettes on the coffee table in the lounge, he lit one. She might have done this so that she wouldn't be tempted to slip out for one at work, he thought with a smile, always wanting to keep her professional mask in place at all times. He tried to calm down as he smoked the cigarette, feeling the old rise of tension in him like a familiar cancer eating away at his insides. It was so corrosive, this need to do something dangerous, something stupid, all in an attempt to free his emotions from their current restraints. Stubbing the cigarette out, Ric went on a little tour of all the rooms he hadn't yet seen in this house, knowing he was looking for something in particular, but not yet willing to admit this even to himself. 

When he opened the door of Connie's home office, and took note of the computer on the cherry-wood desk in the corner, his eyes gleamed. So, she did have a home computer. Well, he'd known she would, or he wouldn't have bothered looking for it, and not even Connie could do all her admin work at the hospital. She would go stark staring mad if she did. Walking over to sit in the comfortable chair before the desk, Ric was about to switch the computer on, when he caught sight of the note on a postit that Connie had stuck to the monitor. When he read the words written in that firm, implacable hand, he froze. She'd known, she'd known he would do this, known he would invade her space in order to fulfill his need. How she must despise that part of him, for her thoughts to be so accurate with regards to his addiction. "If you're thinking of using this computer to gamble, don't." He could hear her saying it, as though she were actually here, ordering him not to give into it. Furiously tearing the note from the screen, he scrunched it into a ball and hurled it in the direction of the waste paper basket. It made him feel angry to know that she had seen through him so spectacularly, and yet it also made him feel small, tiny, as though his very existence didn't matter. He had half a mind to switch on the computer, and to try and work out what her password was. He knew she would have one, because someone as worldly as Connie wouldn't not have one. But he didn't, he couldn't. Her having known precisely what he would do hurt him, hurt him more than anything of the sort ever had done before. It wasn't anything akin to the grief he felt over Paris, because that was an entirely different hurt altogether, but it still cut through him like one of her well-aimed scalpels. 

When Connie arrived home at about six, she let herself in and called his name. "In here," Ric answered from the kitchen. Swiftly putting her head round the door of her office, Connie saw with a feeling of slight trepidation that her note of that morning was gone, meaning that Ric had been in here and that he'd seen it. Going into the kitchen, she found him chopping the vegetables for a Bolognese. His back was rigid, his posture stiff, with his whole being giving off a feeling of unresolved tension. Walking up to him, Connie kissed him in lieu of a greeting, knowing that the subject of her trust in him had to be raised at some point, but not knowing how to begin. "Would you like a glass of wine?" Ric asked, not verbally giving her any sign that he felt betrayed, angry and confused by her actions. "Yes please," She said, removing her jacket and hanging it over the back of a chair at the kitchen table. When he handed her the glass, she asked, "What did you do today?" As he told her, for the moment leaving out any hint of trying to use her computer, he continued chopping carrots and celery with a precision that spoke volumes of his inner turmoil. 

When he had put all the vegetables into a large saucepan along with the ground beef, leaving it to simmer for an hour or more, he poured himself a glass of wine, and said, "You didn't trust me, did you?" This was a statement not a question, because they were both aware that she hadn't. "No," Connie told him simply. "And I think you know why I didn't." "Tell me," Ric invited. "Because this is definitely a reason I want to hear." "Ric," Connie replied, sounding mentally if not physically tired. "You are going through a very difficult time at the moment, and you need some sort of outlet for everything you are feeling. Now, I entirely understand that, and if I can possibly help you through it, then I will. What you must accept, however, is that your life-long leaning towards gambling, is only going to be made worse by your current situation." "Will you please not talk to me as though you're a psychiatrist and I'm your patient?" He asked her bitterly, feeling almost unbearably small. "Fine," Connie said just as abruptly. "You have a problem with the fact that I currently don't trust you anywhere near anything that can help you gamble, when I was absolutely right not to trust you. You can't exactly deny that, now can you. Ric, I can't help the fact that you don't like how much I am coming to know you, to be able to interpret things that you wouldn't dream of telling me, and I certainly will not apologise for trying to stop you from doing the one thing you would seriously regret." Ric was silent, because he knew that every word she had said was right, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it. "Is this because of last night?" Connie demanded. "Is this because just for once, you revealed the true extent of your vulnerability to me?" Ric flinched as she said this, because he hadn't wanted her to raise this subject at all. "I don't like being made to feel small," He said quietly, not knowing how to describe how weak and tiny he had actually felt. "Oh, and you think I do, do you?" Connie responded, now utterly exasperated with him. "That's different," Ric said dismissively, the words 'You're a woman', getting as far as his teeth before he forced them back. "Don't be so bloody ridiculous," Connie threw back at him. "When you looked after me at Christmas, I hated nearly every minute of that, because I loathe having to need anyone, but I put up with it because I knew I needed it, and I knew I wouldn't survive without it. If you can't admit to yourself that you are in just as an emotionally vulnerable position, then I can't help you." Picking up her jacket from the back of the chair, she slung it around her shoulders and stalked purposefully into the hall. Grabbing her car keys from the hall table, she swept out of the front door, and roared away in the silver-grey Jaguar, to heaven knew where. 


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Listen to Katie Melua's album Call Off The Search while reading this. 

Part Twenty Nine

As Connie drove away from her house, she glared at any passing motorist, taking out her exasperation on everything in sight. She was tired, stressed, hungry, and did not want to be driving round the streets of Holby because she'd just had the beginning's of a fight with Ric. But she didn't know what else to do. She wasn't used to the Ric that wanted to gamble, the Ric that was afraid of revealing his weaknesses to her, the Ric that didn't want her to know a fairly significant part of him. That was the trouble, she thought to herself, because she hadn't known Ric back when he'd been gambling regularly, and the only way she could learn how best to deal with him when he was like this, was to talk to someone who had known him in those days. Her thoughts strayed to Zubin, but he currently had more than enough troubles of his own. Then to Tricia, but she had only known Ric as a work colleague, not really as a friend. Then she hit on the answer, Diane. Diane might not want to talk to Connie, because she'd always held Connie a little responsible for Ric's going away in the first place, but anything was worth a try for his sake. 

Pulling yet again into the hospital carpark, Connie walked back up to Keller and Darwin, hoping that Diane wouldn't yet have gone home for the day. She hadn't, she was sitting in Ric's old office, as acting consultant until they found Ric's replacement. When Connie knocked, it still felt odd to her to hear Diane's voice calling to her to come in instead of Ric's. "connie," Diane said, looking up in surprise. "What can I do for you?" "I, erm, I want to talk to you about Ric." Connie felt helpless, stupid, and thoroughly out of her depth. She didn't do seeking advice, especially not from her female colleagues. "You're the expert on Ric these days, Connie," Diane said matter-of-factly. "Not me." "Perhaps," Connie agreed ammicably. "But I still think you know him better than I do." "I thought you were in Ghana," Diane said, gesturing to the sofa where Connie slumped in dejected uncertainty. "I was, we were, until the call came from Zubin. So, I brought him back with me." "How is he?" Diane asked in concern. "Depressed, argumentative, doing everything he possibly can to hide how he really feels, you name it." "Has he started gambling again?" Diane asked knowingly. "No, not yet, but I know he wants to. Diane, I need to know what he was like before I came here, when he was gambling on a regular basis, so that I might be able to stop him doing it again." "The simple answer," Diane told her carefully. "Is that you can't. If Ric's determined to blow everything he's got on a roulette wheel, then there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop him. You might be able to be there afterwards, to stop him from doing anything really stupid, and you'll have far more staying power than I did if you can. I couldn't cope with Ric when he was like that, because even though I know that addictions can rule your entire existence, I don't think I could quite accept that Ric couldn't stop if he wanted to." "Just how bad did it really get last time?" Connie asked, feeling that she needed to know everything in orderr to be able to help him. "The night before he was due to marry Sam Kennedy, he put twenty grand that she'd given him to settle some of his debts, on a roulette wheel and lost." Connie's eyes widened. "I had to watch him do that," Diane continued. "Which meant that I also had to see the devastation he felt afterwards. One thing I will tell you, is not to leave anything resembling a credit card where he might find it, because he'll have absolutely no qualms in using it. On New Year's Eve a couple of years ago, I unthinkingly leant him my credit card, to buy some champagne for the staff on Darwin and Keller, and he immediately used it to gamble in an online cassino. When he eventually told me, he thought I was hurt by what he'd actually done, but it wasn't that. He hurt me by doing that, because he looked so ashamed of what he'd done, and I couldn't bear seeing Ric like that. The only think I can say is for you to try and give him an outlet, something that at the time, I wasn't able to do." "You mean sleep with him," connie said succinctly. "Well, you're better than most, or so I've heard," Diane said with a sly smirk, making Connie laugh. "I shall remember that, Diane, thank you," Connie said as she got to her feet, wondering if this highly unauthodox remedy might just work. 

As Connie drove home, she wondered if Ric would be up for an evening of blissfully contented lovemaking. Taking his current mood and his still very raw feelings about Paris into account, Connie really wasn't sure, but she supposed that anything was worth a try. She had to get through to him, or else what was there left? He had helped her to survive more than she usually liked to admit at Christmas, but Ric was now making it very difficult for her to do the same for him. But wasn't that simply because she didn't know how to do the same? Because she hadn't ever known how to emotionally put someone back together. Physically and sexually she could manage, but not emotionally. That was an entirely new ball game for her and she didn't enjoy trying to feel her way in the dark with absolutely no guiding light whatsoever. 

When she reached home, she let herself into the house, and laid her jacket over the chair in the hall. She could smell the wonderful aroma of simmering bolognese, and she found Ric in the lounge. He had put a CD on the stereo, the soft, languid tones of Katie Melua permeating the air. When she sat down on the sofa beside him, his arm went automatically around her. "I'm sorry," She said as she kissed him. "Me too," He replied, neither of them having to explain what they were apologising for. "Come on," He said after a while of simple closeness. "Let's eat." they were quiet as he served the bolognese as Connie was trying to formulate what she needed to say to him. "Ric," she said eventually, as she focussed her gaze on twirling a strand of spaghetti around her fork. "I just want you to talk to me, that's all." "And I need you to understand, that that's sometimes quite a difficult thing for me to do," He told her after swallowing a mouthful of the delicious concoction. "I know," She said quietly. "But I can't help you if you don't." "Connie, I'm not exactly used to anyone wanting to help me, as you put it." "Then it seems that this will be something of a learning curve for both of us." After another lengthy silence punctuated only by the music and the movement of cuttlery, he asked, "Where did you go?" "I, erm, I went to see Diane," connie told him carefully. "Diane?" Ric looked up in surprise. "Yes, she was a little shocked to say the least," Connie said with a smile. "But I wanted to find out some of the things that I suspect you wouldn't want to tell me yourself." "Oh, great," Ric said dryly. "Just how many of my dark and deadly secrets did she tell you?" "Enough, for now. Ric, I'm not angry that you wanted to gamble again, and that you probably still do, but that won't stop me from trying to prevent you from doing it." "Why aren't you?" He asked in quiet surprise. "Because I understand that for a very long time, it was the only way you had of dealing with things. I'm also not stupid enough to think that I will automatically succeed in stopping you from doing it again, just because I want to. You haven't gambled now for nearly eighteen months to my knowledge, which is an enormous achievement, but I also understand that this doesn't make the pull of it any less demanding. Manufactured oblivion is sometimes preferable to reality." When she said this, Ric was forced to remember that she had been in and out of drugs when she was sixteen, and that she probably knew a little more about all this than he often gave her credit for. 

When they'd finished the washing up, Ric turned Connie to face him, looking deep into those endless, violet eyes, and seeing nothing but kindness and compassion. "I don't know what I've done to deserve you," He said, gently kissing her. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be," She told him, wanting to show him just how much he meant to her. They moved by general consensus into the lounge, and lay on the sofa in each other's arms, bathed both by the heat of the fire and the softness of the music. "Diane did give me one little pearl of wisdom," She told Ric between kisses, the smirk on her face giving him slight cause for concern. "She told me to try and keep you occupied, and that this oughtn't to be too difficult for me, because as she'd heard, I was better than most at that particular activity." Ric laughed, trying to picture Diane actually putting this into her own words. "Yes, I thought you would find that somewhat amusing," She said with a smile. "I'll have to thank her next time I see her," Ric said with a smirk of his own. "Don't you dare," Connie said with a mock frown of warning. "Or she will be aware that I have put her advice into practice, something I can't possibly allow." "She probably is anyway, if she knows that you brought me back from Ghana." "You nearly married her, didn't you" "Yes, a very long time ago," He replied a little guardedly. "When she was still in medical school and only twenty-one. God, that almost makes me as bad as Zubin, though it didn't feel like that at the time." "What happened?" Connie asked kindly, wanting to know more about Ric's earlier life. "Dominic Friar happened," ric said darkly. "And put Diane off being involved with anyone for quite a long time." 

They lay just listening to the music for a while, softly kissing, and hands beginning to wander over each other's body. Their movements were slow, langorous and gentle, with the gradual removing of clothes being the only pattern to their caresses. Eventually moving to the hearth rug in front of the blazing fire, they lay with the firelight playing over their naked bodies, casting Connie's tanned, honey-coloured skin into a rich rosy glow. "You're beautiful," He told her, his long, nimble fingers playing over her breasts. "I do aim to please," She said mockingly, though secretly loving every complement he gave her, because she knew they came straight from the heart. 

Her hands were all over him now, no inch of his body denied her. When she slid cat-like down his torso, and began nibbling on his right inner thigh, he mocked her in his turn. "I thought you'd already eaten." Laughing huskily, she replied, "It never seems to stop you trying to consume my entire insides at one meal." As she delicately sucked at each testicle in turn, he made a sound deep in his throat that was half a pur and half a growl. "Do you have any idea how good that feels?" He asked her, not entirely expecting an anser, because not even Connie Beauchamp could talk with her mouthful. "That's why I do it," She said, dropping light, butterfly kisses up his entire length. When she eventually took the head gently but firmly between her pouting lips, he knew he was in heaven. He'd needed this, he realised in an instant, this temporary reprieve from everything he was currently feeling. She was giving him that respite, making him feel good in spite of his persistently feeling bad all day. Wanting to maximise her pleasure as well as his own, he said, "Turn round," And when she realised what he was suggesting, she did so with allacrity. As she continued skilfully falating him, she felt the delicious sensation of his tongue on her most sensitive flesh. God, she hadn't done this for years, not for longer than she cared to remember, and certainly not down here on the rug in front of the fire. She groaned in delight as she felt his mouth moving on her, and he was exhilarated from being surrounded by the heady scent of her arousal. He could drown in the taste of her, and it would be a wonderful way to die. But he didn't want to die, not yet anyway. Not at least until they'd reached their ultimate climax. When he knew that he wouldn't last all that much longer under her ministrations, he encouraged her to turn back towards him, and moving over her, he slid inside her. "I haven't done that in a long time," Connie said a little breathlessly, her excitement building just as much as his. "No, me neither," He said as he kissed her. "But I believe it's just one of those things that you never quite forget." "I wish you'd let me take you all the way like that more often," She said, loving the taste of herself on his lips. "But you don't like it." "No, I know I don't, but I can put up with it as long as there's a glass of something nearby to knock back afterwards. Besides, I know that you do like it, which is all that matters" "Whereas you taste as delicious as the richest, headiest Bordeau imaginable." "Do I now," She said with a smirk. "Well, that's nice." They clung to each other as they moved in that age old way, two lovers joined as one, as nature had originally intended, rising to a climax that left them both sated and breathing hard. "I love you," He said as they lay afterwards, limbs entwined and with her head on his shoulder. Connie wanted to respond, to say that she also felt the same, but not yet. She couldn't do it when she still couldn't be a hundred percent sure. It would happen, she was sure of that, and hopefully soon, but it wouldn't be fair to him to say it if she couldn't entirely mean it. "I am, in love with you," She said a little hesitantly, her voice deeper with fully satisfied lust. "Does that count?" "Of course it does," He said with a smile, gently kissing her. "Any feeling that you have for me in that respect, I count as a bonus. I'm very lucky to have what I do have from you, Connie, and I will do my best not to squander it." They both knew that he was referring to his need to gamble, and the hurt and frustration that would probably put her through, but the most important thing to both of them was that she was here, and come what may, she would still do what she could to help him. 


	30. Chapter 30

Part Thirty

When they woke the next morning, they both felt contentedly rested, huddled under the soft, warm duvet, and neither of them really wanted to venture into the outside world. "I wish you didn't have to go into work," Ric said with a yawn, putting his arms out to her, and feeling her soft, warm body nestling up against him. "Mmm, so do I," She said, gently kissing him. "But I'm afraid that duty calls. You could always come with me," She added thoughtfully. "And spend the day harassing my staff." "To keep me under your eagle eye, you mean," He translated for her. "No, not necessarily," She said reasonably. "But it might help to keep you out of trouble." "Oh, and just what would keep you out of trouble right now, Mrs. Beauchamp?" He teased her, his hands trailing tantalisingly over her skin. "Absolutely nothing, Mr. Griffin," She replied in that deep, sultry voice that he loved so much. "Besides," She said between kisses, her own hands beginning to wander. "As far as I remember, it was you who made me behave badly in the first place." "You did half, if not three quarters of the running on that occasion," He replied, knowing they were talking about her very first day in Holby. "Mmm, and delightfully easy it was too," She said, knowing he would rise to this. "You can talk," He mocked her playfully. "You were pushing me right to the limits of my control." Connie laughed, which turned into a groan as his hand slid between her legs. "And who said I wanted you to be in the least controlled." "That was it, wasn't it," He said knowingly, his fingers steadily moving on her. "To have me well and truly under your spell." "You must admit," She said as her breathing quickened under his ministrations. "That power does have a certain frisson about it." Their lovemaking was gentle, sleepy and incredibly tender. They seemed to fit together so perfectly, instinctively knowing each other's needs without any actual direction. 

When they eventually dragged themselves out of bed, showered and got ready for work, Connie said, "If you want to go and see Jess and Zubin today, you can borrow my car." "You trust me with your most prized possession?" Ric teased her with a smile. "As long as you don't crash it or sell it," Connie said matter-of-factly. "Then yes, I suppose so." "Oh, I'm gratified," Ric said drolly, but nevertheless appreciating the offer. 

As they drove through the early morning traffic, Connie began going over the operations she had to do today. Two coronary artery bypass grafts, a bone marrow transplant, and a heart and lung transplant in the afternoon. That was before the usual quota of the morning's accidents and injuries that she may or may not have to deal with. When they reached the hospital, he tagged along behind her, feeling slightly alienated from the environment he had inhabited for so many years. Keller and Darwin were a hive of activity when they arrived, but that didn't prevent Donna from exclaiming over Ric's presence. "Mr. G," She said with a welcoming smile. "What're you doing back here?" "I've come back to be with Jess and Zubin," He told her somberly. "Oh yeah, I'm sorry," She said, the smile disappearing in an instant. "Still, it's good to see you. Diane's a regular slave driver these days." "Is she?" Ric asked with a slight smile. "Yeah, ever since Mrs. Beauchamp made her acting consultant, while they look around for your replacement." "Connie didn't tell me," he replied, inwardly smiling at Connie's faith in Diane's ability. "You didn't ask," Connie retorted, having heard him from a little way down the ward. "Where might Ms Lloyd be found?" Ric asked Donna. "Probably in your old, her new, office. But we've got an RTA coming up from A and E, so you could let her know that she'll be needed in theatre." 

As Ric walked towards his old domain, he inwardly thanked Connie for such a generous gesture, that might hopefully have given Diane a little more cause to believe in her commitment to surgery and above all patient care. When he knocked on his old door, Diane called to him to come in. She had been sitting at the desk, sorting out the endless paperwork that came with the territory of acting head of department, but when she saw who it was, she pushed back her chair and stood up with a broad smile. "Ric," She said, moving over to him and spontaneously hugged him. "Nice to see that my office has gone to a good home," He told her with a smile as he hugged her back. "Well done." "How are you?" Asked Diane, suddenly remembering why he was here. "Oh, I'm surviving," Ric said evasively. "But then after your little chat with Connie yesterday, I suppose you know that." "She's very concerned about you," Diane told him simply. "Not something I ever thought I'd see in Connie, but there you are." "What I have with her, Diane," He told her seriously. "It makes me happy, even though I don't see her for the majority of the time." "I know," Diane said in slightly wistful realisation. "I just hope that she can give you the type of support, that you didn't get from me." "Diane," Ric said carefully. "What did or didn't happen between us is in the past. I would never have been the right person for you, because I've got far too many flaws." "And is Connie the right person for you?" She asked him, knowing that what he said was right, but hating to admit it. "Yes, she is," Said Ric with total certainty. "Because in her way, Connie has just as many weaknesses and imperfections in her make up as I do. I've got no idea how long I'll ever have with Connie, but even if it were to end now, today, it would definitely all have been worth it." "I hope so," Diane said, content for the moment to be standing within his embrace, and hoping that Connie really could live up to the image he'd drawn of her. 

"So," Ric asked in an effort to slightly change the subject. "How's Owen?" "Oh, he's fine," Diane replied, moving away from him now that their heart-to-heart was over. "You should try and say hello while you're here." Just then, the door was thrust unceremoniously open by Donna. "Diane, we've got an RTA coming up from A and E, with chest and abdominal trauma. They're taking him straight to theatre." "Thanks, Donna," Diane said as she walked towards the door. "Well, why not come and see if I've learnt a thing or two in your absence?" She asked Ric over her shoulder. "You could always assist if the opportunity arises." "Oh, thank you," Ric said dryly. "Considering that I taut you virtually everything you know, that's an enormous complement." 

When they arrived in theatre, Connie was already there. "Mr. Griffin," She said on seeing him. "Nice of you to join us." "I hope you don't mind," Ric said politely. "Of course not," She replied with a smile. "An extra pair of hands is always welcome." As Diane and Connie operated on the unfortunate man, Ric assisted where he was needed, and if Diane looked to be a little out of her depth, pointed her in the right direction. "Whilst I have your undivided attention, Ms Lloyd," Connie said about half way through. "I was wondering if you would consider applying for the post of General surgical Consultant on a permanent basis." Diane looked up in shock, as did Ric, though he had a broad smile on his face. "Are you serious?" She asked, always having thought that Connie's favours held an unsuspected ulterior motive. "I mean, do you think I'm experienced enough?" "You're doing the job now, aren't you?" Connie said succinctly. "And I'm sure that Mr. Griffin would give you a dazzling reference." "Erm," Diane slightly floundered. "Can I think about it?" "By all means," Connie replied amicably. "But don't leave it too long." 

Ric spent most of the day shadowing either Diane or Connie, and he was forced to admit that it was having the desired effect of keeping him occupied. Both Connie and Diane between them were making sure that he had plenty to do, both hoping that he wouldn't want to slip away to the betting shop while their back was turned. The day had gone far too easily, Connie mused to herself later on, after everything became complicated again, and she should have seen it coming. But after the heart and lung transplant in the afternoon, all she felt was tired, and in need of a long, hot shower and a large drink. Walking with Ric to her office, she sank down onto the sofa and closed her eyes. "You look as though you could do with some good, old-fashioned TLC to me," Ric said, sitting down beside her and putting his arms round her. "I'm not going to disagree with you," Connie said tiredly, briefly laying her head on his chest. "You've been looking after me all day in your own way," Ric said contemplatively. "You and Diane between you." "Has it been that obvious?" Connie asked with a weary smile. "Very," Ric said sardonically. "Though no less appreciated because of that." Connie was about to reply, when the phone rang. "Oh, go away," She groaned, not wanting to move. But when it appeared that the caller wasn't going to heed her request, she disentangled herself from Ric's arms, and walked over to her desk and picked up the phone. When she heard the frightened voice on the other end, all the tiredness evaporated immediately. Listening for a moment longer, she said, "Okay, Jess, stay where you are. Your dad is with me, and I'll send him over to you right now. Don't worry about Zubin, I'll find him, I promise." 


	31. Chapter 31

Part Thirty-One

When Connie banged the phone down, Ric just stared at her. "What's happened?" He asked, terrified at the answer he might be given. "It seems that Professor Khan has gone missing," Connie told him quietly. "He told Jess that he was going out for a drive, but that was hours ago and she's worried about him. Now, what I suggest you do is to take my car, and go and stay with your daughter, to calm her down if nothing else." "I haven't got a clue as to where he might be," Ric said, sounding thoroughly perplexed. "I have," Connie said firmly. "And if he is where I think he is, this might take a while." "Connie, what aren't you telling me?" Ric demanded, seeing a determination in her face that told him just how serious this situation was. "Whilst I was on the phone, I happened to notice that my bottle of scotch and one of my glasses are missing. Tell me, does Professor Khan ever drink scotch?" "Yes, occasionally. Why, what has that got to do with anything?" "Ric, please, just do as I ask," Connie said to him persuasively, not wanting to put the fear of god in him. "Go and be with your daughter, and I'll see you later." "All right," Ric agreed, seeing that she wasn't going to tell him any more. 

When Ric had gone, Connie waited for him to get well away before she left her office, because she didn't want him to see where she would go. Zubin had quite obviously been in here while they were in theatre, and Connie was forced to wonder just how long he had been in his present location. If he weren't where she thought he was, then she would have a severe problem on her hands. There was only one place he could be, and that in itself was going to provide her with a fair amount of work for the next few hours. 

Making sure that her cigarettes and lighter were in her jacket pocket, Connie left her office, walked to the lift, and pressed the button for the eighth floor. This was as far as the lift would go, and when she stepped out of it, she continued on up a short flight of stairs that led out onto the extremely windy rooftop of the hospital. Breathing a sigh of relief on seeing him, she stood just for a while, taking in everything about her immediate vicinity. There he was, sitting on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling over the edge, with her bottle of scotch and a glass on the flat roof beside him. Zubin had heard her approach, her heels having given her away. "You come to join me?" He asked, not looking behind him to verify his suspicion. "Well, that is my scotch you're drinking," Connie said reasonably as she moved towards him. "Can I sit down?" She asked. "I'll be lucky to keep my skirt on up here." "Be my guest," Zubin said dryly, his words not remotely slurred. "You stole my hiding place," Connie told him as she sat down on the edge next to him, the bottle of scotch between them. "It was Ric's hiding place before you came here," Zubin informed her as she tried to light a cigarette. "And no doubt that of countless others before him." Seeing that she was struggling to light the cigarette because of the wind, he reached to cup the end of it with his two strong hands. "Disgusting habit," He said as he did this. "Oh," Connie retorted after taking a grateful drag. "And drinking too much of my scotch at the edge of a hundred foot drop is at the height of sensibility, is it." "I don't feel very sensible at the moment," Zubin told her bleakly. "I know," Connie said quietly. "You wouldn't have come up here if you did." "Ric always used to come up here when everything was getting a bit too much," Zubin told her. "So, why did you make it your hiding place?" "It can be, quite seductive up here," Connie said a little hesitantly, not really wanting to share this with him. "I used to feel that just for a while, just for a few minutes, I could escape from a lot of things. Michael, what he was doing to my hospital, and how empty I felt without Ric." Zubin stared at her in surprise. "You didn't think it was all that serious between us, did you," She said with a slight smile. "But it was, it is, and before Christmas when I was here and he was in Ghana, I didn't feel whole. But if I came up here, I could pretend that I was back at his house by the sea, feeling more alive than I think I ever had done before." 

"Sitting here," Zubin began slowly, gradually allowing the brakes of his self-restraint to slip further and further away. "I think part of me is wishing that time would just stop, and go back to how things were before he died. Jess was happy, Paris was happy, and so was I. When Jess first told me that he was mine, I couldn't get my head round it. I said I'd support her, financially, because I knew just how Ric would react if he thought I was the father of his grandchild. But Jess didn't want that. I think her words were that she didn't want to be my dirty little secret. It was either all or nothing, and I realised that I just couldn't live with nothing." "You were going through a midlife crisis when it happened, weren't you," Connie put in almost understandingly. "Probably," Zubin admitted gloomily. "And you saw straight through it, didn't you." "I thought you were throwing yourself and your career away on a silly little girl who would all too easily get over it," Connie told him thoughtfully. "But we can all be wrong." "When I first saw Paris, after Jess had him, I didn't care how many arguments or how much bad feeling it had all caused, because he was beautiful. He was mine, my son, and all I wanted was to love and care for both of them." "I know," Connie said quietly, hearing the tears in Zubin's voice as they rose unbidden to her own eyes. Would her child have lived it she'd had even a tenth of the same attitude as him? She couldn't possibly know. "I tried so hard to do what was best for both of them," Zubin said helplessly. "But it still wasn't good enough." "Zubin, you couldn't have prevented him from catching meningitis," Connie tried to persuade him, but knowing that her efforts were pointless. "Don't you think I know that?" Zubin demanded of her. "Don't you think I know that there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop him from dying?" The tears were running freely down his face by this time, and it was all Connie could do to stop herself from joining in. Swiftly shifting the bottle and glass out of her way, she moved closer to Zubin along the edge of the roof and put her arms round him. She held tightly onto him, feeling his arms go around her, as though she was the only thing that was keeping him from taking that final, irreversible jump. 

"Now you listen to me," She said with her face close to his. "You have a woman who loves you, and you have a friend who loves you, both of whom do not deserve the further pain that your death would undoubtedly cause. Jess needs you, because this time is just as difficult for her as it is for you, and Ric needs you because he will always need a friend who has the drive and determination to keep him on the straight and narrow." "I thought you'd taken over that particular responsibility," Zubin said with a slight smile. "Ric will always need as many friends as possible to keep him away from the roulette wheel, something I suspect I won't always be able to do." "Jess won't talk to me," He said despairingly. "Probably because she doesn't know what to say," Connie said with far too much authority on the subject of losing a child. "She'll be blaming herself, even though there is no blame to be accorded, and she'll be persistently wondering what she could have done differently, just as you are." "You sound as though you know first hand what you're talking about," Zubin said, wondering at the level of insight he was receiving from her. "Well, perhaps I do," She said noncommittally. "But what's important now is that I get you back to Jess in one piece, because when I spoke to her an hour ago, she was extremely worried about you." "Where's Ric?" Zubin asked, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and scrubbing at his face. "I sent him to stay with Jess, because I didn't want him to think you'd come up here," Connie told him succinctly. As they carefully stood up and Connie picked up the bottle and glass, she tucked Zubin's arm through hers to keep him upright. But as they walked down the stairs and back towards the lift, Zubin pulled her to a stop. "Connie, I'm sorry." He looked so pitiful and so ashamed at what he'd almost done, that she couldn't help but to try and assuage his guilt. "Oh, that's all right," She said with half a smile. "Just don't go stealing my favourite scotch on a regular basis, and I'm sure I can turn a blind eye to it this once." 


	32. Chapter 32

Part Thirty-Two

As Connie drove Zubin's car through the streets of Holby, she asked, "Just how much of that scotch did you drink?" "About half of it," Zubin said, now sounding very sleepy and slightly slurred. "Then I'm amazed you could still stand," Connie said, clearly a little impressed. Zubin laughed in fond memory. "You should have seen me and Ric in med school. I think we developed a tolerance to alcohol to get away with just about anything the morning after." "Why am I not surprised?" Connie said disgustedly, as she turned into Zubin's street. 

Zubin stumbled as they walked up the garden path, and Connie yet again pulled his arm through hers. When Zubin had searched in his pockets for his key, Connie let them in. "Zubin!" Jess cried when she saw them, flying forward to put her arms round him. "Where have you been?" "I think he could do with sleeping it off," Connie told her quietly, saving Zubin the task of searching for an adequate answer. "You're drunk," Jess said to him, understanding Connie's explanation of things. "A little perhaps," Zubin said evasively, but they could all hear just how difficult it was for him to form a coherent sentence. "Come on," Ric said to him, taking his arm from Connie and leading Zubin towards the stairs. "It might actually help you to have a decent night's sleep for once." 

When Ric and Zubin had gone upstairs, Jess and Connie simply stood and looked at each other. "Where was he?" Jess asked timidly, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer. "That's not something Zubin would want you to know," Connie told her quietly. "Tell me!" Jess insisted, tears of combined relief and worry suddenly coursing down her cheeks. "Listen to me," Connie said a little hoarsely, moving forward to enclose Jess in her arms. "All that matters now is that he's safe, and that he's back home with you, where he belongs." "He was on the roof, wasn't he," Jess said bleakly, looking up into Connie's tired face. "What makes you think that?" Connie asked her guardedly. "I'm not stupid, Connie," Jess told her firmly. "The hospital is the one thing that's always meant more to Zubin than anything else in his life, so it makes sense that he would go there if he wanted..." She stopped, unable to voice her fears of what might have been. "Zubin loves you," Connie told her with absolute certainty. "And he's feeling all the grief and self-blame that you are. What you both need to do is to talk to each other, no matter how hard that might be." Over Jess's shoulder, Connie caught sight of Ric standing in the doorway watching them. When he realised she'd seen him, Ric moved forward, laying a protective hand on Jess's shoulder. "Connie's right, you know," He told her gently. "You can let it all out by crying, but Zubin doesn't find it so easy to do that." "I wish he would," Jess replied, detaching herself from Connie. "Well, he did today," Connie said softly. "Which believe me, really is a good start." 

When Ric and Connie left a little while later, Connie asked Ric if he would drive. "Are you all right?" He asked, seeing a very pinched expression on her face. "No, not really," She said dully, sliding into the passenger seat. "Don't worry, it'll pass." But Ric couldn't help but be concerned for her as they drove towards her house, observing from time to time that the colour had completely drained from her skin, and that she was biting furiously on her bottom lip. "You look as though you're about to throw up," Ric said eventually. "Just drive," Was Connie's curt response. 

When they drew up in her driveway, Connie was out of the car and into the house quicker than Ric would have thought possible. As he locked the car door and followed her, he assumed that she was suffering a reaction from having talked Zubin down from where he'd undoubtedly been. As Connie ejected everything she had eaten that day, which admittedly was precious little, her body shook with the aftershock of having to fulfill such an enormous responsibility. She could easily have failed in her mission to talk Zubin down, and it was only by sheer luck that she had succeeded. He had undoubtedly been on a course for self-destruction that day, one that a few months ago, she wouldn't have been able to curtail. It was only by virtue of her and Zubin having abandoned hostilities since what had happened to her at Christmas, that he had allowed her to get so close to him. As she splashed her face with cold water, rinsing the taste of bile from her mouth, she felt the dull ache in her lower abdomen, the ache that signified that once again she had wasted one of her chances to become a mother. As she took a long, hot shower, to try and soothe her tired muscles, Zubin's words came back to her. He had expressed so much love for his dead son, and for his very young partner, love that Connie had always either denied to herself or to others. Would she have had so much unconditional love for her child if she had lived? She didn't know. 

When Connie finally made her way downstairs, she found Ric in the lounge having stoked up the fire. He had made her a cup of tea that sat on the coffee table, and she picked it up as she sank gratefully into a corner of the sofa. "Was Zubin really up on the roof?" Ric surprised her by asking. "I heard Jess asking you," He added when she didn't immediately answer. "Yes, he was," She said regretfully, searching for her cigarettes which she realised were still in her jacket pocket. "I'll get them," Ric said as he got up, seeing a distinct lethargy in everything she was doing. "Thank you," She said when he returned with them, sitting down at the other end of the sofa, giving her the space she appeared to need. "How did you know that's where he would be?" "I used to go up there sometimes," She told him. "Before Christmas, and after." As she retrieved and lit a cigarette, taking a long and satisfied drag, he said, "It's very seductive up there, isn't it?" "Almost too seductive," She agreed quietly. Then, glancing at the glass of wine that he'd poured for himself, she said, "I'm glad you didn't pour me one of those. The way I feel right now, I'd probably drink the entire bottle." 

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Ric just watching the maelstrom of expressions playing to and fro over her face. Something was going on in that head of hers, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. When she'd stubbed out her cigarette, Ric moved along the sofa and tried to put his arms round her. But holding up a hand, Connie stopped him in his tracks. This was an odd situation for her, because she wanted his comfort and yet didn't want it. "Connie, talk to me," He encouraged her gently. "I'm not sure that you'll really want to hear it," She said, turning her gaze away from him, for fear that the tide of tears would rise up and entirely envelop her. "Try me," Ric said softly, seeing the battle raging away in her eyes. "But it sounds so stupid," Connie told him helplessly, unable to prevent the tears from rising to her eyes. "Connie, after the day both of us have had, I doubt anything will sound stupid," He promised her firmly. Lighting another cigarette to put a flimsy barrier between Ric and her, she tried to explain what she was feeling. "When Zubin was sat up there today, telling me how much he'd loved his son, something I never thought Zubin would say to me of all people, I kept wondering if I would ever have felt the same for my daughter. I ignored her very existence for most of the time I was carrying her, and barely acknowledged either her birth or her death. Well, not outwardly anyway. Michael always wanted children, mainly to please his mother, but he did always want them. I said no every single time, and did everything possible to ensure that it didn't happen by accident. I just feel, I don't know, that I've wasted every opportunity I've had, to have the thing that Jess and Zubin, and you, felt so deeply. Zubin doesn't feel entirely whole without his son, and neither does Jess, you can see it in her. I deserved to lose my daughter, because I would be a pretty rotten mother now, never mind what I would have been at the age of sixteen, but Jess and Zubin didn't deserve any of this." Not entirely knowing where all this had come from, Ric again tried to put his arms round her. She allowed it this time, but he could still feel her reticence, still feel her inability to relax against him. 

"One thing I will tell you," He said into her hair. "Is that nobody knows precisely how they will feel when they have a child, man or woman. You cannot force yourself to love your child, and yet you may find that there is part of you that would happily die for them. You have absolutely no idea what kind of mother you might have been, whether good, bad or indifferent. Connie, no matter what you did, you did not deserve what happened to you when you were sixteen, because nobody deserves something like that. You need to start believing that." When he kissed her, she would barely let him, even though his soft, full, gentle lips were what she wanted most in the world. "Is it what happened this afternoon that's brought this on?" He asked her gently. "Only partly," She said resignedly. "Then what?" "Much as it may be the one thing I need most in the world right now," She said with a mental shrug. "You can't make love to me, not for a few days anyway." "So?" He asked, understanding her euphemism, but wanting to know why that meant that he couldn't still hold her. "Michael barely used to want to touch me, never mind kiss me when I was like this," She explained, some residual anger about this briefly showing in her eyes. "And I, am not, Michael," Ric said slowly and deliberately. "So do not assume that I will react in the same way." "I know, I just, I'm not used to too much consideration on that particular point." "And after living with at least six women before you," Ric said with a sardonic smile. "I ought to be more of an expert on this than Owen Davis." Connie smiled, her first since she'd brought Zubin home. "That's better," Ric said, gently kissing her. "I want to see that smile more often. With the funeral tomorrow and Jess and Zubin both living on the edge, I'm going to need it." 


	33. Chapter 33

Part Thirty-Three

On the Friday morning, the day of the funeral, Rica drove Connie into work as he had done the day before. "You do know that I'm covering for Lola today so that she can come with you?" Connie said as they waited in traffic, unable to remember whether or not she'd told him this the day before. "Yes, you said," Ric replied with a grateful smile. "And it is very much appreciated, believe me." "It'll probably give me something of a wake up call," Connie said ruefully. "Working as a doctor in critical care for a day, it'll show me just how lucky I am not to be doing it on a regular basis." 

Later that morning, when the time for Lola to leave was approaching, Connie went down to AAU to do the hand over with her. Lola looked wild, distracted, and not in any way her usual, authoritative self. When she'd finished going through the patients they currently had on AAU at twice her normal speed, Connie gave her a soft smile and laid a brief hand on her shoulder. "Lola," She said gently but firmly. "Take a deep breath, calm down, and go and sort yourself out. Ric said he would be here at about eleven to pick you up." "It ain't right, is it," Lola said darkly. "To be burying one so young." "No," Connie said quietly. "Which is why Jess and Zubin will need all the support you can give them." When Lola began to look slightly calmer, Connie asked, "so, who have I got as nurses today?" "Mark Williams and Mickie Hendry," Lola told her. "I did phone for some agency cover, but no joy." 

Ric was there on time to pick Lola up in Connie's Jag, and she dropped into the passenger seat with a look of curiosity on her face. "This Connie's car?" She asked without preamble. "Yes," Ric told her. "She's allowing me to borrow it while I'm here." "I don't know what she's done to you, Eric," Lola said philosophically. "But you're looking far better on it than you ever did with me." "I'm not sure how long it would last if I was here all the time," Ric told her reasonably, as he drove towards Jess and Zubin's house. "I just wish it could work both ways." "Explain," Lola invited succinctly, seeing that he had something on his mind. "I'm not sure that today is the right time to be asking your advice about Connie," Ric said with a rueful smile. "Depending on what Jess and Zubin want to do afterwards," Lola said thoughtfully. "We'll go for a drink and you can get that little quandary out of your head then. Connie told me to take all day if necessary." 

The funeral wasn't until one o'clock, and at around half past twelve, Donna appeared on AAU. "Mrs. Beauchamp," she said, walking straight up to Connie. "I was wondering if you could spare Mickie for an hour or so. This is one funeral where Jess might need her friends." "Mickie," Connie called her over. "Nurse Jackson here is asking me to give you time off to go to the funeral." "It would be appreciated if you could," Mickie said politely, looking Connie in the eye for the first time since Will's death. "I'm not going to prevent either of you from supporting a friend," Connie replied, in her own way acknowledging once and for all that Will's death hadn't been Mickie's fault. As the two girls thanked her and moved towards the exit, Connie called after them, "Be back by two thirty at the latest." 

As the six of them stood at the graveside, watching the little coffin being lowered into the earth, they each in their own unique way wondered why such a tragedy had to happen. Even Donna, with her somewhat dismissive approach to life's consequences, couldn't help but feel sorry for Jess, even though she'd known that the baby had been unexpected in the first place. Professor Khan looked almost dead himself, Donna couldn't help but think, as though the very purpose of his life had been taken away, which she supposed it had. The six of them barely listened as the words were intoned, each of them having far too many thoughts in their own heads to pay much attention. Tears ran freely down Jess's face as the first shovel of earth was cast onto the wooden lid of the coffin, and Ric found Lola's hand slipping into his, needing just for a moment to recapture the support he had tried to give her when they were married. He gave her hand a tentative squeeze, telling her that he was there, if only temporarily. 

When the coffin had been well and truly covered, and they all began to move away, Lola asked Zubin what he and Jess wanted to do. "Much as your coming here has been appreciated," He said to the four of them. "I think we need to be on our own for a while." "Thanks for coming, you guys," Jess said to Mickie and Donna, and the two of them gave her a communal hug. "You know where we are, any time," Mickie told her. When Jess and Zubin had driven away, Donna asked of no one in particular, "Why does it always rain for funerals?" As she said this, she gestured up at the dark, grey clouds above them, looking ready to break at any moment. "It's the souls of the dead, crying to have a new one in their midst," Lola told her philosophically, making Donna look as though she wished she hadn't asked. "Do you two want a lift back to the hospital?" Ric asked as they moved towards where Connie's car was parked. "Yes please," Mickie answered for them, as they had been forced to get a cab out to the church on the outskirts of Holby. 

They were all quiet as Ric drove them back to the hospital, but when he drew up in the car park, Lola was the one to say, "I think we all could do with a drink, don't you?" "We haven't got to be back till two thirty," Donna replied. "So yeah, a drink sounds good to me." As they all trooped over to the bar opposite the hospital, Ric wondered if now might be a good opportunity to talk to Lola about Connie. Fishing a ten-pound note out of her purse, Lola handed it to Mickie. "You two go and get yourselves a drink," She said with half a smile. "And don't be late back on duty." Taking this as a hint to leave them to it, Mickie and Donna took Lola's word for it and found a table to themselves. After paying for a scotch for Ric and a glass of wine for herself, Lola led the way to a corner table. "So," She said, when they'd sat down opposite each other and she had taken a swig of her wine. "Tell me all." "For a start," Ric said carefully. "I'm not really sure that I should, and second, it'll probably sound a little odd to say the least." "Eric," Lola said with a smile of remembrance. "Nearly everything to do with you and your women is usually a little odd. So, get on with it." "You don't change, do you," He said almost fondly at her forthright attitude. "I'm not sure why you expect me to change," She replied thoughtfully. "You certainly don't." "Lola," Ric began cautiously. "When we were married..." "Which time?" Lola put in with a sardonic smile. "Either," Ric told her. "Did I ever make you feel, that any, regular reason why we couldn't, make love was your fault?" Lola's eyes widened in surprise. "It's not like you to be euphemistic, Eric," She said with a smile, entirely understanding what he was getting at. "But to answer your question, no, you didn't. Why?" "Because of how Michael was during the entire time they were together, Connie assumes that I won't even want to kiss her. I think Michael used to use that as his excuse to play away." "That's not exactly unusual, Eric," Lola told him thoughtfully. "But why?" Ric said in perplexed anger. "It's just a normal part of living day in day out with a woman. As a doctor, you'd have thought he would have known that." "Eric," Lola said, laying a hand over his and trying to calm him down. "Just because you feel like that, doesn't mean that every other man on the planet feels the same. With some men, they see it as their right, to be able to have sex with their woman any time they like, monthly interruptions be damned. They don't want to understand that it's not something we can control, and they think that just because they can supposedly pleasure a woman every day of the year, women should automatically be the same with them. From what I've heard of Michael Beauchamp, I'd say he was as selfish a man as you could possibly find." At Ric's raised eyebrow, she added, "The hospital grapevine hasn't exactly been very quiet since Christmas." "How do I make her relax?" Ric asked, unable to believe he needed Lola's advice on anything, never mind something as personal as this. "How do I make her see that I love her, no matter whether she can sleep with me or not?" "My god, you have got it bad," Lola said with a smile. "And the simple answer is, you just need to tell her. Tell her that you love her, if you really do, and try to show her that you don't find her any less attractive, just because of what time of the month it is. It might take some time, which I appreciate isn't something you often have with Connie. But I can tell you now, what little time you have spent with her over the last few months really has made a difference. She's not the proverbial ice queen any more, and she doesn't verbally beat inferior mortals into submission like a Sergeant Major just as she used to. If that's your achievement, then well done." Ric smiled softly in spite of himself. "I just wish she would talk to me," He said a little despairingly. "If she wasn't used to being able to talk to Michael, then she won't think she can talk to you, no matter how much you've already tried to convince her," Lola said succinctly. "I don't know what's changed with you, Eric," She said thoughtfully. "But something has, and it's definitely for the good." "I haven't gambled in nearly eighteen months," He said almost proudly. "It doesn't mean I haven't wanted to, especially recently, but I haven't as yet given into it." "Then keep it that way," Lola told him firmly. "Because that won't help anybody, least of all you. As for Connie, you remember that massage you often did on me? Well, try it on her, she might just like it." 


	34. Chapter 34

Part Thirty-four

When Connie eventually came home at around seven that evening, she found that Ric had remade the open fire in the sitting-room. After he and Lola had finished their drink, Ric had given Lola Connie's keys to give to her, and had made his own way home. He had detoured past the betting shop, which had often been one of his old haunts, but had just managed to restrain himself from going in. He knew that if he had, all would have been lost. He was living dangerously close to the edge, he knew that, but how did he admit this to Connie? Would she even want to hear it? He didn't know. 

Ric was sitting on the sofa in front of the open fire when Connie returned home, both of them feeling tired, worn out and on edge. Connie sank down at the other end of the sofa and briefly closed her eyes. "How was your day?" Ric asked when she didn't say a word. "Exhausting," Connie said without opening her eyes. "I don't know how Lola does it, day in day out. AAU reminds me of working in A and E in inner London on a Saturday night. In other words, a bloody nightmare from start to finish." "You're forgetting that Lola definitely has the temperament to survive it," Ric said fondly. "Any nurse, patient or visitor who comes under her cosh, isn't going to forget it in a hurry." "And I thought I was like that," Connie said tiredly. "You've changed," Ric told her succinctly. "And I'm not the only one who's noticed." Finally, Connie's eyes opened and she stared at him. "I haven't changed that much," She said disbelievingly. "Would it be such a bad thing if you had?" Ric asked her carefully. "Yes," She said firmly. "Because I refuse to appear weak in front of my colleagues, or anyone for that matter." Getting up from the sofa, she flounced out of the room and made her way upstairs. Fifteen love to Connie, Ric thought despairingly. He had been firmly put in his place, all for suggesting that she might have slightly altered for the better. 

Upstairs, Connie lay in a hot, scented bath, alternating between fuming at Ric for possibly being right, and regretting having snapped at him because she knew he was right. She was always so instantly aggressive at this time of the month, that she couldn't help wondering if that was why Michael had always made it his mission to avoid her company. She always managed to respond with precisely the wrong words, all because she couldn't be bothered to give even a moment's thought to the situation in hand. Ric hadn't looked all that good either, she'd noticed, as though today had been somewhat trying, which she supposed it had been. She wondered what he'd been up to since the funeral, and found herself almost praying that he hadn't been gambling. She really didn't know if she had the energy to calm him down if he had. 

When Ric appeared in the bathroom, carrying a cup of tea for her, she gave him an apologetic smile. "I thought you could probably do with this," He said, putting it down on the corner of the bath. "Thank you," She said, looking up at him. "I'm sorry I snapped at you." "Forget it," Ric told her mildly. "I think we've both had something of a difficult day." As he moved to retreat from her, she put out a hand and caught hold of one of his. "Stay," She invited him gently. "And tell me how it went." "I'm not sure that there's much to tell," he said, not letting go of her hand, but neither making a move to sit down. "Ric, please talk to me," She said, sensing his unease and wanting to do nothing more than to bring him back to her. "Do you honestly expect me to have a serious conversation with you whilst I have such a delightful view in front of me?" he asked her, wanting to get her away from what he'd been tempted to do. "I might look attractive," Connie said with a slight smile. "But I certainly don't feel it." "Trust me," Ric said in that deep, gravelly tone that always set her hormones into a bubbling cauldron of desire. "From here, you look incredible, with your nipples sticking up out of the water, just begging to be touched." Connie felt her nipples immediately harden at his words, something Ric didn't fail to miss. "I wish you wouldn't talk to me like that when you know I can't have my wicked way with you," She told him huskily. "Why?" He asked with a predatory smirk. "Is it a little too invigorating?" "Yes," She replied with a laugh. "You know it is." Leaning down towards her, he kissed her, both of them wanting to prolong the encounter in too much, much more. "I'll do you a deal," Ric told her when they came up for air. "You come downstairs when you're ready, and I'll pour us both a drink. You let me hold you, which I can promise you is something we both definitely need, and I might just tell you what I nearly did this afternoon." Gazing right into those deep, black eyes of his, she saw his need, his craving, which he had so far managed to suppress. What he needed from her now was reassurance and comfort. "All right," She replied quietly. "You have a deal." 


	35. Chapter 35

Part Thirty-Five

When Connie eventually made it downstairs, Ric had found her an ashtray, and poured them both a glass of the crisp, chilled Chablis that he'd found in the fridge. When she appeared, Ric held up a slightly fragrant package. "I picked this up on the way home," He told her with a tentative smile. "Is that what I think it is?" Connie asked, her tiredness suddenly abating. "It certainly is," Ric said with a grin. "Some sort of illegal dalliance is definitely what I need this evening," Connie said, wondering just where Ric managed to lay his hands on something like that at a moment's notice. When she sat down in a corner of the sofa, and Ric began to roll a joint for them to share, Connie was struck with a thought that made her laugh. "Do you know something," She said, now thoroughly cheered at the concept. "Michael would have a fit if he thought I was smoking dope in what used to be his house." "Oh, well," Ric said philosophically. "Let's hope he finds out." 

When the joint was rolled, they lay along the sofa, and Ric put a light to his creation. Connie was reclining in the crook of his right arm, with her head on his shoulder. When they were contentedly passing the joint between them, Connie collected on the earlier deal she had struck with him. Ric allowed her to do this, because he wanted her to be as relaxed from the dope as possible, before he started asking some questions of his own. "So," Connie began after taking a drag. "Tell me what you did this afternoon, after the funeral." Taking a thoughtful drag of his own, Ric only partly regretted striking the deal with her in the first place. "We would have stayed with Jess and Zubin, but they wanted some time on their own. The four of us drove back to the hospital in your car, and we went for a drink in the bar across the road." "I thought Mickie seemed a little starry-eyed when she came back on duty," Connie said with a knowing smile. "Lola gave them a tenner and asked them to make themselves scarce. Lola might drive me to distraction most of the time, but she does talk sense very occasionally, and she does know me better than nearly everyone else." "I suppose that's what happens when you're married," Connie said a little wistfully, telling Ric that this wasn't something that had ever taken place during her marriage. "It did me good to talk to Lola, it usually does. So, after hammering a great deal of her grandmother's wisdom into me, she went back to work, and I began to walk home. I was glad I'd decided to do that, because it wasn't raining and I wanted some time to think." Ric stopped, slightly hesitant to go on with his shameful story. Connie simply waited, knowing that he would continue in his own time, and not wanting to crowd him. "The air was crisp, really bitter, but it felt incredibly wrong to find it quite so invigorating, today of all days. As I walked, I thought about you, and about Jess, and about Paris, and I..." He stopped again, far too embarrassed to put what he'd felt into words. "Go on," Connie encouraged gently. "It'll sound stupid," He said, almost afraid of her reaction. "Tell me," Connie said softly but firmly, acknowledging his difficulty, but wanting to make him really open up to her. "I... I wanted to cry," He said quietly, flinching from his own admission. "Now you listen to me," Connie told him firmly, a slight hint of moisture rising to her own eyes. "Don't you ever feel stupid, or bad, or wrong for wanting to do that? It's one of the most natural things in the world, and would probably do you an enormous amount of good." "Oh, and that's why you hide any sign of that 'Perfectly normal reaction' from pretty much everyone you know, is it," Ric demanded, laying special emphasis on how he knew she would term such a release. "I hide it from my colleagues," Connie told him hotly. "Because it does not do to appear weak in front of one's subordinates or rivals. As a result of Michael being who he is, I was also forced to hide it at home, where any self-respecting being might assume that I could happily let my self go as it were. That does not, however, mean that I see it as something to be hidden at all costs." "So, what you're actually saying," Ric replied, slightly smiling at her. "Is that it's one rule for you, and one for the rest of us." Connie grinned back at him. "Why of course, Mr. Griffin, and if you haven't realised that already, you've got a very long way to go." Tilting her face up towards him, he kissed her, both of them tasting the wine and the dope on each other's lips. 

After a while of some simple cuddling, Connie said, "Come on, you've got a story to finish." Ric's body immediately stiffened, showing her that there was yet more that he really didn't want to tell her. "I walked passed the betting shop," He said, feeling as though he was sitting in Gambler's Anonymous, admitting his failure for the very first time. "You said you walked past," Connie clarified. "I must therefore assume that you didn't go in." "No, I somehow managed to avoid actually doing that." "I'm proud of you," Connie said wholeheartedly, leaning up to kiss him. "It doesn't mean I didn't want to," Ric told her, not wanting her praise when he felt that he really didn't deserve it. "Why didn't you go in?" She asked, wondering what his reason had actually been. "Because I knew that if I did, there was no way I'd be able to stop myself from putting whatever was in my wallet on a horse, and... I... I didn't want you to be disappointed in me." Connie just stared at him, a rush of feelings almost enveloping her. She was unbelievably moved by his having not gambled to please her, a height of love and respect that she wasn't entirely sure she could live up to. Ric could see the effect that he'd had on her, making her temporarily speechless. "Connie," He said tentatively. "It doesn't mean that I'll always be able to resist the call, it just means that I did this time." "I know," Connie said a little hoarsely. Reaching to stub the second joint out in the ashtray, she turned on her side to be as close to him as possible. She kissed him with all the fever she was capable of, pressing herself the entire length of his body, clinging to him in fear that he might be taken away from her. He held her close, having needed this safe haven of warmth all day and wanting to make the most of her while he still had her. 

But when she slightly retreated from him with an exclamation of sheer frustration, he smiled knowingly at her. "Do you ever feel unbearably sexy at this time?" "Yes!" She replied in total disgust. "And there's never a single, bloody thing I can do about it." Smirking wickedly at her, he said confidently, "That was before you met me." "Oh really?" She said teasingly, wanting to spur him onto further endeavour. "Take off your blouse," He said. "And I'll show you." "And I thought I knew everything when it came to giving pleasure," Connie said philosophically as she sat up and unbuttoned her blouse, slinging it and her bra over the back of the sofa. When she lay back down, he gently turned her over until she was lying on her right side with her back against his chest. "Now, close your eyes," Ric told her in that deep, gravelly, utterly masculine tone that made all her senses quiver. "And listen to every word I tell you." Already she could feel her innards melting at his words. She would never admit it, but just occasionally, she loved being submissive, just for once not being the one in control. "When you came out to Ghana last week," Ric continued, hardly unable to believe it had been such a short time ago. "You finally told me just one of your secret fantasies, something I've been wanting you to do for some time now." "Well, how extraordinarily foolish of me," Connie said with a smile. "You told me about your little liking for a certain midwife," Ric told her. "Now, keep your eyes closed, and just try and picture her, as she was when you allowed her to shadow you for a while. Picture that admiring face, completely enthralled by every single word you uttered, and you know how much you love to be put on a pedestal by those who are too young and innocent to do otherwise. You said that you couldn't resist flirting with her, so let's assume that you took it further than you actually did. Wouldn't it have given you an enormous kick, to teach her just how pleasurable a woman's touch could be?" "I've a feeling Donna Jackson got there first," Connie replied, though her voice had taken on that deep huskiness that told Ric his efforts were producing fruit already. "Imagine how that would have felt," Ric continued. "To take her hands, and show her how to give you pleasure." Having his arms round her from behind, Ric took one of Connie's hands in his, encouraging her to touch herself. As her own fingers tenderly caressed the underside of her right breast, Connie could far too easily picture Mickie Hendry doing the same. "She may take a considerable amount of teaching," Ric went on. "Because we both know that you are extremely particular about how you like to be touched." He manipulated Connie's fingers so that one of them began circling her right nipple, making her gasp at the sheer naughtiness of what they were doing. 

"You would gently instruct her to continue using her hand on you," Ric said as he deftly turned Connie to lie on her back, and then slid a little way down the sofa. "But having one breast so mercilessly teased wouldn't quite be enough for you, would it. Therefore, you would ask her to run her tongue over you, like this." He bent his head, and ran just the tip of his tongue around her left nipple, his eyes focussed momentarily on her own wandering hand, finding himself almost unable to tare his eyes away. Connie groaned with rising ecstasy, immediately blushing at just how incredible she was finding this. "You might even be so bold as to ask her to try suckling on that nipple that could probably cut diamond, it's so hard and erect." As his lips enclosed said nipple, Connie thought that she must be in heaven. The combination of her own hand and Ric's soft, full lips was driving her wild. No one, not Michael, not anyone, had ever tried to be quite so innovative with her. The only part of her that was being stimulated was her nipples, yet she was approaching an incredibly powerful orgasm in spite of that. As Ric alternated between crooning soft, delightfully sinful words to her, and using his lips to further her pleasure, she flew nearer and nearer to her peak, eventually soaring over her own horizon and feeling freer than she had ever done. She cried out as her walls of mental and emotional incarceration crumbled away, knowing that Ric wouldn't have done this, wouldn't have bestowed quite so much love and attention on her if he hadn't meant every single word of it. Michael used to avoid exchanging the merest touches of hand with her during this time of unavailability, yet Ric had actively chosen to kiss her, caress her, and make her feel wanted. What else could she possibly ask for? 


	36. Chapter 36

Part Thirty-Six

They both slept fitfully that night, Ric unable to get that image of the tempting inside of the betting shop out of his mind, and Connie tossing and turning with the discomfort of her current condition. Ric couldn't escape from that pull he'd felt to go in and blow whatever he had on him, on the most promising horse available. He could almost hear the thunder of hooves in his mind as he drifted in and out of sleep, combined with the rattle of chips being shifted under the croupier's wooden spatula. The rattle of the tiny ball on the roulette wheel, the shuffle of cards, they were all sounds that were far too familiar to him. So familiar in fact, that he could conjure them up without any difficulty whatsoever. What would Connie feel if she knew all these things? Would she still want to be his rock, as he knew she was certainly becoming? Would she still want to listen to his hardly thought-provoking ramblings? He hadn't been lying earlier when he'd said that he'd badly wanted to cry, because he'd felt a severe need to expel all the corrosive poison of his addiction, to cleanse himself of the depression over Paris's death, and to rake away all the badness, all the weakness of character that made him who he was. He wanted to clasp some beautiful, loving woman to him, such as Connie for instance, and howl his bloody eyes out against the injustice of his life, his daughter's life, and the life of her child that had been ended so prematurely. 

Connie knew that he was having as little success at sleeping as she was, and to some extent she could feel the waves of self-loathing coming off him, making her want to hold him to her and soothe all his pain away. When she realised that neither of them were about to get any sleep in the near future, she broke the uneasy silence. "Why can't you sleep?" She asked, wondering what sort of answer she would get. "Just thinking about life, the universe and everything," Ric told her dryly. "What about you?" "My womb seems to think its a good time of the day to give me hell," She replied without thinking, and finding herself amazed that she'd said such a thing, never having done so with Michael. Connie was lying on her side, facing away from him, and as he cuddled himself up behind her, her body slightly stiffened. Just because of what had happened earlier that evening, didn't automatically mean that she could suppress her reaction that had lasted years, to having anyone close to her at a time like this. But when Ric put his left arm round her, and laid his firm, gentle hand on the flat plain of her lower abdomen, she made a move to detach herself from him. "Just relax," He assured her softly. "I'm told this really does work." He didn't ad that it was Lola who'd told him this, but as he began to deftly massage her taught, knotted belly, she groaned in awe at the relief he was giving her. "Whoever taut you that deserves a medal," She said after a while. "I can't remember whether it was Diane or Lola," Ric told her with a smile. 

Then, after a softly contented silence, Connie said, "We didn't exactly finish our conversation earlier, did we?" "That depends on what you wanted to talk about," Ric said, carefully hedging his bets. "If I ask you something," Connie continued just as carefully. "Will you try not to flinch away from me?" "Oh well, I suppose there is a bonus in the fact that I'm not looking at you," Ric said philosophically. "When you walked passed that betting shop, why would you have wanted to go in? What might have made you give into that urge?" "I think I needed the buzz, the high that gambling always gives me. If it hadn't been the day of Paris's funeral, I might very well have done it, but it somehow seemed slightly disrespectful. I've been so, depressed, over the last few days, that I think I needed cheering up." Ric had hesitated over the word depressed, that Connie could feel it was an effort for him to actually voice it. "And is that such a crime to be depressed over losing your grandson?" Connie's voice was so gentle, so tender, that he was finding it almost too easy to talk to her, to put into words the feelings he usually kept to himself. "No," He replied thoughtfully. "I'm just not used to admitting it, that's all." It also occurred to him at this stage that it was easier to talk to her now, because they were in the dark, and she couldn't begin to analyze any of his facial expressions, that so often could give away his true feelings. "Connie, when I dream," He continued tentatively. "I can hear all those things that remind me of what I used to be. If it's not the thunder of horses' hooves over the turf of a particular racecourse, it's the rattle of the tiny ball on the roulette wheel. I can see the bright lights of the casino, or the dingy interior of the betting shop, just like the one I passed today. I can feel that sense of excitement, the anticipation of the win or the lose, knowing that I've placed far more than is good for me on an enormous risk that could so easily end in success or disaster. Like a drug, the gambling would give me a temporary release, make me feel free of the constraints that surrounded me either by virtue of my job or whichever woman I was married to at the time. Even though the high would always be followed by the low, knowing that I'd blown a week's rent or food money on a horse that may as well have had three legs instead of four, it still made it all worthwhile. I despise myself for what I've put far too many people through over the years. Jess, Leo, Lola, even Sam, who thought that giving me a cheque for twenty grand to sort out my debts was really a good idea. I put the entire thing on a roulette wheel the night before I was due to marry her, and lost. I felt like a cockroach, not fit to even look her in the face, and yet it wasn't her fault, it wasn't anyone else's fault but my own." He'd said these last few words with such self-loathing, such passion, that Connie knew that she was finally getting somewhere. "Jess hated every minute she spent with me when I was still gambling, because every promise I made her, to either sort myself out or to lend her money was always broken. Even last year, when I found out who the father of her baby really was, everything I did alienated her even further from me. She was pregnant, and badly needed my support, and what did I do? But react with my fist as though I thought that would solve anything. Then I left, just when she needed me to stay, something that had also been done before. It is entirely my own fault that I didn't get to know my grandson as well as I might have done, mine, and no one else's." 

Connie could hear the tears in his voice, and could hear his voice beginning to crack. Halting his hand in its soothing movements on her abdomen, she took it in hers, gently chafing his fingers between her own. "You didn't know that Paris was going to die," Connie told him gently, but it didn't seem to make any difference. "But if I'd been here," Ric insisted vehemently. "I would have been here to support Jess, at a time when Zubin was clearly finding it impossible to do so." Turning over within his embrace, Connie raised herself up a little so that she was half leaning against the pillows. She could just see the tears shining in Ric's eyes, from the shaft of moonlight that had crept in through the gap in the bedroom curtains. One or two had escaped down his cheeks, making him look more vulnerable and in need of comfort than she had ever seen him. Putting her arms round him, she held him with his head against her chest, softly running her fingers through his hair. "You can't hold the entire world in your hands, sweetheart," She told him gently. "And even if you could, that wouldn't have prevented what happened to Paris, or your daughter, or anyone you love. You're just human, with all the strengths and weaknesses of any one of us. What's important, is that you've tried your hardest to help both Jess and Zubin, in the way you know best." "I'm sorry," Ric said as the tears finally took over, making him feel small enough to be crushed under just her fingernail. "Shh, it's all right," She said as she held him, trying to soothe away the torrent of grief that had been approaching ever since she had told him of Paris's death on Monday, only five days ago. She stroked his cheek, feeling the beginnings of the stubble under her fingers, and the tear tracks that seemed never ending. "I feel so weak and pathetic!" Ric said vehemently, hating the fact that she was seeing him in such a vulnerable, unmasculine position. But he was also forced to admit that only she out of the collection of women he had known over the years could ever have handled such an outburst from him. He could feel the softness of her breast beneath his cheek, and he clung to her as he wept, almost as one might to a mother. When he calmed down, his grief for the moment spent, she slid back down beside him, wrapping herself round him, in an effort to banish away the many thoughts that she knew he hadn't shared with her. This outpouring of feelings might have been an oasis in the depression that forced him to consider gambling rather than talk to her or to anyone, but that didn't mean it was over, not by a long way. 


	37. Chapter 37

Part Thirty-Seven

Ric and Connie spent a quiet weekend together, with Ric going over to see Jess and Zubin on the Sunday. But when it came to Monday morning, and Connie had to go into work again, Ric went with her, not trusting himself an inch to be on his own all day. As they sat in the early morning traffic, Connie asked, "Are you all right?" Having seen something in his face that definitely worried her. "I'm fine," Ric told her, but neither was remotely convinced by his statement. He assisted Connie with an emergency operation, and helped Diane as she prepared for a round of students who would be shadowing her later that day. But when it reached the early afternoon, Ric found himself at something of a loose end. 

Connie was in theatre, doing a triple bypass, and she had her full complement of registrar and SHO, which meant that she certainly didn't require his assistance. She'd said that he could feel free to use her office if he felt like it, which he definitely appreciated. Her office was quiet, almost restful after the hustle and bustle of the earlier part of the day, and he settled into a corner of her leather sofa and unfolded the newspaper he found lying there. He read fairly contentedly for a while, until an advert on one of the back pages caught his eye. It was for a new casino that had opened in the centre of Holby, with an added promise that its services could also be accessed via the Internet. As though like lightning, he could feel that surge of excitement, the craving beginning to build, and the urge to take a huge risk gradually taking him over. He moved like an automaton over to the computer, sitting down in Connie's leather swivel chair and bringing the screen to life. 

As Connie walked dejectedly along the corridor back from theatre, her thoughts were with the man who had just died on her table. Losing a patient was naturally a part of her job, but that didn't mean she had ever gotten used to it. She spoke to the man's relatives, doing her best to assure them that she and her colleagues had done everything they could, and now all she wanted was a cup of tea and a sit down. But when she pushed open her office door, she found Ric, sitting at her computer, looking a million miles away from the world she inhabited. 

"Ric," She said as she went in and closed the door, but he barely seemed to notice that she was there. Walking over to him, she turned the swivel chair to face her. "Are you all right?" She asked, though knowing he wasn't. "Fine," He slightly croaked, cringing away from her deep violet eyes that were currently seeking out all his imperfections. "Don't lie to me," She said simply, neither pleading nor angry. "Connie..." He stopped, not knowing what he could possibly say to her. Here he was, clearly on the hunt for somewhere to gamble, for something to give him that high he craved, and had been craving for days now. Connie was standing in front of him, with the relatively clear part of her desk behind her, and with the computer to her left and his right. Glancing quickly at the screen, she took in the logo of the online casino he had been about to access. Reaching forward, she switched off the monitor, trying to take it out of his line of vision. "Tell me what it is that you're looking for?" She asked quietly, slightly tilting his face up towards her so that she could more closely examine the look in his eyes. When he didn't answer, being far too ashamed to answer, she said, "Ric, you look wild, untamed, as though you are determined to achieve your end by any means. Do you need that high so much?" "I almost feel constricted," He told her. "As though I need to escape from who I am." "Well, at least that's something I can deal with," Connie replied, sounding a little more sure of herself. "Have you ever been to a prostitute?" "No, certainly not," Ric responded tartly. "Don't be so defensive," She told him calmly. "Most men have, even though the vast majority of them won't admit it. So, close your eyes, and pretend that standing before you isn't the medical director of this fine hospital, but the whore that no doubt inhabits all of your dodgiest fantasies." As she leant down to kiss him, he surprised her by saying, "How do you know you're not?" She laughed huskily as he gently pulled her onto his knee. "I might be good, but I'm not that good," She said with a predatory smirk. "Don't you believe it," He replied between kisses, and thinking that Zubin knew nothing when it came to getting extreme sexual pleasure, and Zubin had had to pay for it. "So," Connie asked when they eventually came up for air. "Do you think that this little craving of yours might just be exchanged for extreme sexual arousal?" "Are you kidding," Ric said with a laugh. "That's half of it." "Good," Connie said with a deceptively sweet smile. "Because that at least is something I can, alleviate." "Oh really," Ric crooned softly back at her. "And just what would my incredibly opulent fantasy have in mind?" "Just you wait and see," Connie promised him, as she slipped from his arms to kneel in front of him on the carpet. 

Putting her hands on his thighs, she gazed up at him, lightly running the tip of her tongue along her lips. When he realised what she had in store for him, he said, "Connie, you can't seriously mean to do that here?" "I, Mr. Griffin," Connie purred seductively. "Can do anything I please, and as it appears that I can't quench your desire for me or anything else in the usual way, I'm sure this will suffice. It's funny, but I've always wondered just why men like this so much." As she said this, she reached for his fly, undoing the zip with the practiced ease of one who had done so many times before. "Think about why you like it so much when you receive that particular delicacy," Ric told her as her nimble fingers withdrew his length from his trousers. On seeing the slight dilating of her pupils at the thought of his oral caresses, he added "Well, there you are then." 

When her red-painted lips encircled the head, he leant back in the chair and watched her. He couldn't keep his eyes closed as she'd instructed him, because she really was the embodiment of all his fantasies. He didn't need to think of anyone but the woman currently on her knees before him, with her curly black hair framing her face as she fellated him with all the expertise of the whore she wanted to be for him. He was far too large for her to even think of deep throating him, though he was sure she would have done if she could. As her beautiful lips surrounded him, her soft, warm tongue delicately flickered against the underside of him, treating him as she might a particularly exotic ice-lolly. He lifted a hand to gently stroke her cheek, running his fingers through the hair that smelled so fragrantly sweet. 

But as they both revelled in the naughtiness of doing this at work, there came a most untimely interruption, in the form of a knock on the door. Still with Ric's hardness between her lips, Connie backed towards her desk, forcing him to follow her if he wanted to remain intact. Only when Connie was crouched well under her desk, with Ric sitting in front of her, the top of the desk entirely hiding what they were doing, did Connie lightly pinch his leg to tell him to get on with the act. "Come in," Ric called, hardly able to believe he was doing this. When the door opened, it revealed Tricia. Thank god it wasn't Diane, or worse still Donna, Ric thought to himself. "I was looking for Connie," Tricia said as she looked over at Ric sitting very close to Connie's desk, and knowing that she'd seen Connie enter her office not ten minutes earlier. "I think she's in theatre," Ric told her smoothly. "Anything urgent?" "No, it'll wait," Tricia replied. Then, just to make sure, she asked, "Are you sure you haven't seen Connie?" "Sorry, Tricia, but no," Ric told her without a flicker. "But I'll tell her you were looking for her." "If you would," Tricia said as she backed out, with a very thoughtful look on her face. 

As soon as Tricia had gone, Ric gently detached Connie from him and backed away from her desk. But this didn't dissuade Connie from her chosen mission, to give him the high he'd been looking for. Moving back into her former position, she continued fellating him, her movements gradually speeding up, and eventually taking on the firm and active rhythm that would hopefully push him over the edge. He sucked the breath in through his teeth as she did this, feeling the pleasure and passion coursing through his veins as one might feel the effects of dope or alcohol. He gripped the arms of the chair, needing to grasp something, and not wanting it to be Connie's hair, which at the moment was far too tempting. When she hummed around him, her vibrating lips almost giving him an electric shock, he almost cried out with the force of it. She was right to have done this, he realised, because his feelings were soaring, hurtling as fast as an oncoming train towards the high he'd been so desperately seeking ever since he'd returned from Ghana. When he came, she valiantly swallowed every drop, using her tongue to clean every hint of his seed from his skin, leaving him slightly trembling with the force of the passion she had quite literally milked out of him. 

As Ric fastened his fly and Connie rose a little unsteadily to her feet, she spied the cup of luke warm tea he'd obviously been drinking before attempting to use her computer. Picking it up from the desk, she unceremoniously knocked back the liquid, using it to take away the taste of what she'd just accepted from him. Putting the mug down, she turned back to face him, with a self-satisfied smile on her face. Pulling her down towards him, Ric kissed her soundly, saying in far more than any words just how much he loved her. "Did anyone ever tell you just how beautiful you are?" He said between kisses. "Yes," She said with a smile. "You did, yesterday, I think." "So start believing it," He told her gently but firmly. "There aren't many women who would have done that for me, just to get the urge to gamble out of my system. You've got absolutely no idea how much it's appreciated." "Did it work?" She asked, though clearly seeing that it had. "Yes, for now," He replied without a doubt, though needing to let her know that it wasn't a miracle cure. 

A little while later when Connie left her office, to begin the afternoon's ward rounds, she passed the nurses' station where Tricia was in the middle of a phone call. Flashing a winning smile in Tricia's direction, Connie went on her way, safe in the knowledge that just for now, she had managed to curb that self-destructive craving that may one day be the ruin of him. 


	38. Chapter 38

Part Thirty-Eight

On the Tuesday, Ric elected to stay at home, saying that he would spend some time with Jess and Zubin, and for Connie not to worry about him. "All right," She said a little unconvincingly. "But you know where I am." So, she left him, driving into the hospital on her own, entirely unable to shake the feeling that she was doing the wrong thing. 

But Connie fretted all morning about Ric, knowing full well that what she'd done for him yesterday had only been a temporary measure. Bringing him to orgasm, allowing him to let out some of the tension that was surrounding him, had only been a time buyer, a reprieve, a way of putting the hungry dragon of his addiction back into a fitful doze. But Connie was sensible enough to realise that the dragon wouldn't remain asleep forever. It would wake up again sooner or later, rise up and breathe fire on the craving within. She knew that he was terrified of this happening again, though he wouldn't entirely admit it to her, as was she. It scared Ric almost out of his mind, because he didn't want to disappoint everyone he valued, and because he didn't want to end up the need driven emotional and financial wreck he'd been a couple of years ago. Connie was terrified that if he did give into the calling of the roulette wheel, she really didn't know whether or not she could support him through it. It wasn't that she didn't want to have to cope with the realities of his having an addiction, but it was whether or not she could, her concern being for his well being not hers. She wanted to be strong for him, to be able to give him the level of comfort he'd so willingly bestowed on her at Christmas. When all that had happened with Michael, Connie had felt as near to giving up as she ever had done in her life. Ric had said that he loved her, but did that mean that he would still love her, if she found that she couldn't quite manage to be the rock he so badly needed her to be. Michael hadn't ever needed a rock, because rocks weren't generally considered malleable enough to be fucked and then discarded like the proverbial French letter. That's all Michael had ever thought of her as, though in her case, the disposable object hadn't been limited to one use only. Oh no, she had been far too useful to him for that, else why had he married her? She had been something beautiful to bring out on display at all the relevant functions, clearly in a much higher class than the type of scrubbers he usually favoured. Her own brilliance as a surgeon hadn't exactly hindered her career, a fact that he had often chosen to forget. 

But Ric wasn't like that, he treated her with kindness and respect. He made her feel capable of absolutely anything when he deftly mapped the peaks and valleys of her body, taking her to heights of pleasure she'd forgotten existed during all her years with Michael. Why else had she sought so many dalliances of her own? Though most of these had ended up being highly unsatisfactory. But Ric hadn't been like that, oh no. He had touched her almost with reverence at the end of her very first day. His hands had wandered confidently over her skin, tracing the curve of breast and hip with such tenderness, and moving between her legs with such skill and accuracy. Then, as he had finally entered her, she had really known what it was to be filled to capacity. As the head of his positively enormous shaft had grazed her cervix, she had felt a connection with him, a connection that she'd almost wasted in her attempt to rule the roost. 

Her thoughts constantly wandered between Ric and her work all day, and when she finally reached home some time after seven, all she wanted was a soft, sensuous cuddle from him. But Ric wasn't there. The house was cold and quiet, with not a single sign of life in its vicinity. Picking up the phone, Connie dialled Zubin's number. Thankfully she got him not Jess, because she didn't want to worry Ric's daughter at a time like this. "Zubin, is Ric there?" She asked, but already thinking that she knew the answer. "No," Zubin said in surprise. "I thought he was with you." "And he told me that he would be with you this afternoon," Connie said in dawning realisation, her voice sounding more world weary than Zubin had ever heard it. "Where do you think he is?" Zubin asked her, getting that old wave of suspicion that he hadn't felt about Ric since the old days. "Well," Connie said ruefully, reaching for her cigarettes and lighting one. "I'd say it was a choice between the casino and the betting shop, wouldn't you?" "You've caught on quickly," Said Zubin with slight amazement. "I'm learning," Connie said succinctly. After she'd taken a long drag of her cigarette and Zubin had been given a moment to think, he said, "Do you want me to go and look for him? It's not as if I don't know where he's likely to be." "No, don't do that," Connie said on an exhalation of smoke. "He'll come home when he's ready." 

Connie made herself something to eat, though she didn't feel especially hungry, and spent the rest of the evening sitting in front of the open fire in her sitting-room, smoking. She was trying to prepare herself for how Ric might feel when he eventually came home, which she did assume he would. After all, apart from Zubin's or Diane's, he had nowhere else to go. She couldn't be angry with him, she knew that, because she had seen this coming ever since she had told him of the death of his grandson. Ric had been living on a knife-edge all week, desperately trying to suppress the urge to follow his calling. She wasn't even disappointed in him, because she fully understood why he had done it. He'd said yesterday that he just wanted to feel different from who he was, which was Ric's way of saying that he wanted to leave behind all the feelings of guilt, regret and uselessness that currently invaded his every thought. She sat there for hours, slumped comfortably in the corner of the sofa, with her cigarettes and a mug of coffee to hand. The longer he remained away, the more worried she became for him, but not even Connie could stay awake after the day of operating she'd had. Eventually slipping into a light doze, she drifted in an out of the firelight and her growing concern. 

When she eventually heard the sound of his key in the front door, her eyes snapped open in an instant. She had given him a key so that he could come and go as he pleased. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was well after midnight, and she could hear the faint patter of rain on the windows. Having lowered the lights to their dimmest setting a long time ago, the only real light now came from the fire, which in itself was dying low. When Ric moved into the lounge, he was clearly surprised to see her still up. "Connie," he said, and she could hear all the numbness in his voice that obviously followed a high. "I was waiting for you to come home," She replied with a yawn, at the same time stretching her arms above her head to get rid of a crick in her shoulder. "You shouldn't have waited up," He said dully, seeing in the dim light just how tired she was. Getting up from the sofa, Connie moved over to him, putting her arms up around his neck and kissing his cheek. He didn't immediately return her embrace, almost feeling that he didn't deserve her comfort. But the lure of her tenderness was too inviting, and he held her to him, breathing in the scent of her hair and wanting to stay here forever. "I do know where you've been, you know," She told him quietly. "Is it that obvious?" He asked, not even attempting to deny it, because the last thing he wanted to do was to lie to her. "Yes," She said a little somberly. "Because part of you doesn't think you deserve a cuddle." "I don't," Ric said simply. "Would I be doing this if I thought you didn't?" She asked, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. Ric didn't answer, not knowing what he could possibly say. "I'm not cross with you," She said, feeling the need to offer him some form of reassurance. "You should be," He said a little darkly. "And I will be," She told him firmly. "If you ever try to tell me what I should or shouldn't feel." The familiar sound of her forthright tone made his lips twitch in the briefest of smiles. Only then, did Connie realise just how rain drenched he was. "You're soaking," She said, drawing back from him. "It is raining outside," he told her, gesturing at the awful weather outside the window. "And I did have to walk home." "Then you are going to go upstairs, have a hot shower, and I'll make you some coffee," Connie said firmly, slightly pushing him towards the door. As he did her bidding, he wondered why she was being so nice to him. It wasn't as though he deserved it, after what he'd done tonight. When she appeared upstairs with the coffee and he eventually got out of the steaming shower, she joined him in bed, cuddling up close to him, as much for her own comfort as his. As Ric sipped at the hot, strong coffee, he tried to formulate some sort of explanation for what he had done. Seeing the pensive look on his face, Connie said, "Don't try and talk about it tonight, wait till tomorrow." Heartily relieved that she didn't want any explanations from him tonight, Ric put his arms round her and kissed her, pouring into his embrace all the feelings of guilt and apology that were coursing through him. He loved Connie, and he felt as though he'd just betrayed everything she'd ever meant to him. 


	39. Chapter 39

Part Thirty-Nine

Ric slept very fitfully, unable to stop thinking about what he'd done, and the consequences it might have on his relationship with Connie. He had expected her to have been blisteringly angry with him. He had thought that he would be treated to one of her displays of the legendary Beauchamp wrath, or the proverbial cold shoulder if he'd succumbed and joined her in bed. He hadn't actually planned to do this if she hadn't been up, he would have slept on the sofa, leaving both the argument and her disgust to wait until morning. But she hadn't been in bed, she'd been up waiting for him, and not with the expected loathing on her face, but with her equivalent of tea and sympathy. She had taken him to bed with her, cuddled him close to her, as though she really did still care about him. 

But how could she, he asked himself again and again? How could she not well and truly despise him for giving in like the weak, pathetic addict he was? He certainly cursed himself for his weakness, feeling physically sick at the thought of what he'd done. He felt bad, loathsome, despicable, all the things that must surely make Connie want to be as far away from him as possible. 

Why did he have to do it, he thought as he lay there? Why did he have to give into what his father's bloodline had thrust upon him? His father's genes were in him, coursing through his veins right now. What he really wanted, he realised with absolute clarity, was to get his father's genetic disposition out of his psyche once and for all. To see his father's blood gradually dripping out of him, that would make him feel finally free. 

When Connie awoke in the morning, he was still sleeping, though obviously not in any way restfully. After taking a shower and getting ready for work, Connie sat down on the side of the bed and began stroking his face. Groaning with appreciation, Ric turned onto his back and dazedly looked up at her. "How are you feeling?" Connie asked him, a nagging thought telling her that she really shouldn't be leaving him on his own. "Erm, numb," He said after a moment's thought, having wanted to say dead, but also thinking that this wasn't the best way to reassure her. "Will you be all right till I get home this evening?" She asked tenderly, running her hand through his tousled hair. Pulling her down to lie on his chest, he put his arms round her, and nuzzled his face into her neck, taking in the familiar aroma of her perfume. "I'm sorry," He said, meaning it with every fibre of his being. "Shh, I know," Connie replied softly, gently pressing her lips on his. She tasted of toothpaste as he kissed her back, and he wanted it to go on and on and on. "I wish you could come back to bed," he said in that gravelly voice that always turned her on at a moment's notice. Connie laughed huskily. "Well, I can't," She said, clearly teasing him. "Though I can't say that the proposition isn't very inviting." Deepening their kiss, Ric brought one of his hands round to tease at her left breast, feeling her nipple rise in response even under her blouse and bra. "Keep on doing things like that," Connie said in her low, husky drawl. "And you will force me to do what I've never, ever done in my life, and call in sick." "Go on," Ric encouraged her with a smirk. "I dare you." "The challenge," Connie replied between kisses. "Will be going to work, and not thinking about your advances until I get home this evening. At which point," She continued silkily. "I intend to make up for my last few days of abstinence." "Is that a threat or a promise?" Ric said just as silkily. "Oh, a promise, without a doubt," She assured him. "But now, Mr. Griffin, I need to go to work. So, do you promise me to stay out of trouble until I get home?" "I don't make promises, Connie," he told her soberly. "Okay," Connie said understandingly. "Just try, that's all I ask." 

Ric dropped off back to sleep when she'd gone, slipping in and out of dreams of his childhood, combined with the bitter realities of what he'd done as an adult. When he eventually tore himself from their clinging grasp, he had tears in his eyes. He hadn't woken from a dream like this for years, crying almost like a baby because of his own pathetic failures. Throwing the duvet aside, he crossed to the bathroom and switched on the shower. As he stood under the hot spray, the droplets of water were able to hide his tears, and allow him to calm down a little, and for his plan to emerge from the depths of his thoughts of the night before. He still felt that need, that instinct to get his father's blood out of him for good. He knew it was completely irrational, but that didn't mean he didn't still feel the need to do it. Getting out of the shower and drying off, he eyed the razor that he was about to use to shave himself. No, he wasn't about to do it with that, not if there was something else in the vicinity that would do a much better job. After he'd shaved, he began looking through Connie's extensive bathroom cabinet. She had everything in here, from the usual toiletries to any number of supplies for medical emergencies. But on the very top shelf, he found what he was looking for. No surgeon worth their weight in gold would be lax in keeping a scalpel at their beck and call, and it seemed that Connie was no different. Removing the small case from the cabinet and opening it, Ric stared down at what he knew both he and she could use with such skill and ability. Removing it from the case, he put the case aside, examining the stainless steel blade, and feeling a surge of anger tinged with euphoria that he was about to do this. 

Connie had phoned Zubin once she'd got herself through the morning's list, just to let him know that Ric had come home last night, and that so far, he seemed to be in one piece. "He assured me that he would be all right left on his own," She told him. "And I didn't have any choice but to come into work." "Connie, you're doing everything you can," Zubin assured her. "Far more than most I can promise you. But please be careful with him. Ric might tell you that he's all right, but that's just to hide how he really feels. He's been doing that since the first day I met him. He'll probably be feeling incredibly guilty for giving in, something that you shouldn't underestimate." "Zubin, what aren't you telling me?" Connie asked, getting a feeling of dread that encompassed her entire body. "All I'm saying is, that he very likely won't tell you anything about how he really feels, because he won't want to frighten you off." "Has, erm, has he ever been suicidal?" Connie asked, not wanting to know the answer, but thinking that she already did. "It's not something he's ever admitted to," Zubin told her carefully. "But that doesn't mean I haven't ever suspected it." "Right," Connie said, feeling as though all the air had been knocked out of her. "Then I'd better make sure he's got something to stay here for, hadn't I." 

When she'd come off the phone to Zubin, she picked up her bag and coat, and locked her office door behind her. Stopping at the nurses' station, she told Tricia that she was just popping home for something, but would be back in half an hour, and that she had her pager on her if there was an emergency in the meantime. "It used to take longer than half an hour in my day," Tricia said, giving her a sly wink. "And this really isn't the time for asinine trivialities," Connie told her icily, regretting it as soon as she'd said it, because she didn't want to alienate one of the only friends she had in this place. "Is everything all right?" Tricia asked, seeing that her comment had been less than tactful. "No," Connie said, trying to shield her eyes from Tricia's inquisitive gaze. "But that doesn't give me the right to take it out on you." "Oh, think nothing of it," Tricia said kindly. "And take an hour if you like. We've got nothing on till two this afternoon." 

As Connie drove home, she thought about what Zubin had said. Ric had seemed okay this morning, his urge to make love to her having been completely obvious to her. But had that been real? Or had there been a far darker force within him, lurking just below the surface? It terrified her that Ric might feel so desperate, that he might want to end it all just because he'd fallen off the wagon. What could she seriously do to help him if he did feel like that? Talking to a suicidal patient, that was one thing, but talking her lover, some might say her saviour, down from a course of action that would have only one, very bitter end, she really didn't know if she had the strength to do it. 

When she let herself into the house, all was quiet. Going upstairs to the bedroom, she found the bed empty but still unmade. She could smell the waft of shampoo and aftershave coming from the bathroom, so she followed her nose, assuming that he was still in there. But standing in the doorway of the en suite, she just stared, utterly gob smacked at the sight before her. Ric was clad in no more than a pair of boxer shorts, and sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. He had his arms held over the washbasin, and Connie could see the thin trickle of blood, that was almost shimmering in the faint sunlight coming through the bathroom window, with the faint source of light glinting on the surface of the most lethal of her professional tools. 


	40. Chapter 40

Part Forty

"What on earth do you think you are doing?" Connie's words were uttered in a quiet, horrified tone that couldn't fail to capture Ric's attention. "Connie," Was all he seemed able to say, as he looked up at her from where he was sitting. The scalpel was poised in his right hand, clearly ready to once again cut into his flesh. "I asked you a question," Connie said firmly, her anger now rising in earnest. Ric just stared at her, not knowing of any explanation he could give for his actions. Moving into the bathroom, Connie unceremoniously jerked the scalpel from his hand, staring for a moment at the blood stained blade, before putting it well out of his reach. Taking hold of his left arm, she closely examined the damage he'd done. There were two cuts, both lengthways along his arm, and both fairly deep. Thanking every deity that he hadn't yet moved onto the underside of his arm, which might have left him with an arterial bleed, she reached into the bathroom cabinet for dressings, alcohol wipes, and a needle and surgical thread. "Just what did you think this would achieve?" She demanded bitterly, needing to talk, needing to somehow excise her own combination of anger and fear before she could begin her task. But Ric didn't answer, he couldn't answer. What could he possibly say to her that she would understand? How could he possibly explain to her that he was bad, that his very soul was tainted with the blood of his forebears? Furiously unwrapping the sterile alcohol wipe, Connie almost viciously swiped it over the wounds in Ric's arm, causing him to grit his teeth in silent protest. "Don't bother looking like that," Connie told him disgustedly. "I thought pain was what you were looking for." "Connie, you don't understand," Ric said quietly, finally finding the capability to speak to her. "No, you're damned right I don't," She replied bitterly. "Why, Ric, why?" She demanded, the tears rising to her eyes as she threaded the needle in preparation for patching him up. "Why did you have to do something quite so stupid, and quite so unnecessary? You know, if you thought you were punishing yourself by doing this, it isn't just you that you're punishing, because this is hurting me as well." "I'd have thought the gambling might have done that," Ric said quietly, finally broaching the subject of what he'd done the night before. "No, you stupid man, of course it didn't," Connie told him exasperatedly. "Ric," She said a little more quietly, trying to calm down. "You are an addict, which means that you will occasionally come off the wagon and go back to what you did before. I understand that, possibly better than most, which is why I'm not angry with you for doing it. But this, it scares me rigid." 

She couldn't prevent the tears from falling as she said this, just for once revealing her vulnerability in front of him. "Ric, I can't bear seeing you punish yourself for something you can't help. I also can't stand by and watch you carve patterns into your skin, as though it would really solve anything." With the needle poised, she held his forearm in her left hand, and began sewing up the two gashes in his flesh. Ric sucked in a breath of air through his clenched teeth, desperately trying not to cry out at the sensation of her sewing him up without an anaesthetic. "I don't mind what you call me while I'm doing this," She said without looking up at him. "Because I know it hurts like hell." But Ric just about managed to restrain himself and keep absolutely quiet. "I'm sorry, darling, I know this hurts," Connie said as she sewed. "But you've gone fairly deep, so I've got no choice but to sew it up." 

When she'd finished, she put away the needle and thread, and covered the resulting scars with a sterile dressing. The only really visible sign that Ric had been in an enormous amount of pain during her ministrations was the slight tremble in his muscles. "Come on," She said gently, softly rubbing his bare shoulder. Getting to his feet, he followed her back into the bedroom, where she gently persuaded him back into bed. "We need to talk," She said by way of explanation, removing her skirt and blouse, and slipping under the duvet in her underwear. Then, reaching for the phone, she called Tricia, and asked her to arrange cover for the afternoon's list. "I will be available if there are any unforeseen emergencies," She told Tricia. "But there's something I need to deal with here this afternoon." "Don't worry, I'll find cover," Tricia assured her, hearing the real sound of worry in Connie's voice, and wondering what it was that was keeping her attention at home. 

When Connie had put the phone down, she turned towards Ric, the two of them huddling as close to the other as possible, their limbs entwining so as to leave not a single inch of space between them. "Don't you ever, ever do anything like that again," Connie told him hoarsely, the tears now coursing down her cheeks, almost in relief that she'd stopped him in time. "Just how do you think I would have felt, to come home and find your dead body on my bathroom floor?" "I didn't actually intend to go that far," Ric told her quietly, softly running his fingers through her hair. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that?" She demanded bitterly. "Ric, I have no idea just how far you were prepared to go." He stayed quiet, wholly unsure as to how to explain his actions to her. "Connie, whatever I say," He began eventually. "It'll sound stupid, and I'm not even sure that it'll make any sense to you." "Try me," She encouraged gently. "Because I need a reason." "Because of what I did last night, I couldn't sleep, not particularly well anyway. All I could think about was how much I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. When I came home, I expected you to either be furious with me, or give me the cold shoulder, but you didn't do either. I couldn't understand why you were being so nice to me, why you weren't giving me the merest ounce of criticism for being the weak and pathetic individual I am. I thought you would end up despising me at the very least. While you were sleeping, I couldn't get away from the thought that it was my father's genes that were making me the person I am. Being an addict of one form or another has come down the generations, passing through me to end up in Leo. He's just as bad as his father when the urge takes him, only his poison is heroin rather than the roulette wheel. All I wanted," He continued hesitantly. "Was to get my father's blood out of me once and for all." "But darling, you can't do that," Connie told him quietly. "I know," He said ruefully. "I did tell you that it wouldn't make sense." "It does, believe me," Connie said regretfully. "It makes more sense to me than you could possibly imagine, but that doesn't mean you can ever do it. You are stuck with his genes, just as I am stuck with my father's, not something I'm especially proud of." "Why?" He asked, seeing that Connie had, just for a moment, slipped into the previously unexplored territory that he knew she usually kept heavily guarded. "That's not something you need to know," She said quietly but firmly, leaving him in no doubt that the subject was closed. 

"I knew I shouldn't have left you this morning," She said, going back to their previous discussion. "I had this nagging feeling in me all morning, telling me that I should be here with you, rather than in my theatre. I wish you'd been able to tell me how you felt." "I thought you might see it as just another sign of my weakness," He admitted shyly. "And do you seriously think that it's something I haven't ever wanted to do?" Connie asked him, the tears again rising to her eyes. "So many times over the years, I've wanted to take out that scalpel and convert the mental torture that goes on in here from time to time, into something physical that I could at least partially deal with." "So why didn't you?" He asked, seeing that she had just as many hidden skeletons as he did. "Because Michael would have asked far too many unwelcome questions," She replied dully, her ire going out of her voice as soon as it had come. "Michael didn't understand mental flaws, even though he has a number of them himself. So yes, I do understand why you wanted to do this, but that doesn't mean that I can stand by and watch you do it. You mean far too much to me, for me to allow you to punish yourself for something that I do not blame you for." They cuddled even closer, their tears mingling as their souls purged the hurt they both felt. Once their grief had subsided, they both slid into an exhausted sleep, their bodies almost one, so close did they lie. Their dreams may have been filled with tortuous images, but deep down in their torment, they both knew that the other was there. 


	41. Chapter 41

Part Forty-One

They slept soundly for a couple of hours, both of them not having slept a great deal the night before. But when the ringing phone dragged Connie forcefully out of her slumber, she cleared her throat, in an attempt not to give away what she'd been doing. "Connie, its Tricia," Came the well-known voice over the wire. "We've got a pretty serious stabbing that's just come in, and your cover is still in theatre with the afternoon's list." "All right, I'm on my way," Connie replied as she got out of bed, putting on her clothes as Tricia filled in the details. "Tell theatre to be on standby," She told Tricia, at the same time frantically trying to work out how she could keep Ric safe in the meantime. When Tricia had disconnected, Ric yawned and looked over at her. "That sounded pretty serious," He said, his professional instinct kicking in. "It is," Connie said as she pulled a brush through her hair, "which is why Tricia called me. Ric, I need you to do something for me: I need you to promise not to try anything like you did this morning while I'm away." "All right," Ric said seriously, seeing that she wasn't going to settle for anything less. "I wasn't actually planning to, but if it makes you happier." "No, it doesn't really," Connie replied a little curtly, "but I don't appear to have any choice." Walking into the bathroom, she picked up the scalpel he had used and after wiping it clean, put it into the pocket of her skirt. This was a pretty pointless exercise, she thought to herself, because if he really was serious about it, he could just as easily use a carving knife from the kitchen. When she moved back into the bedroom, he got out of bed and put his arms round her. "I'll be all right, really." "Well, if you're lucky, I might just send an old friend to keep an eye on you." "I would really rather you didn't," He said carefully, wondering just what on earth she had in mind. "Tough," Connie told him with a kiss. "Because for the moment, I would prefer that you remain alive and well. Is that clear?" "Crystal," He said gloomily, watching her out of the bedroom window until she drove away. 

The idea was somewhat novel, she thought as she moved through the interminable traffic, but it might just work. Diane Lloyd, whilst being one of the coldest people Connie had ever met, did in actual fact know Ric possibly a lot better than she did, which meant that Diane might have more success in getting through to him. On reaching the hospital, she walked straight up to Keller, and knocked on Diane's office door. Having been bidden to enter, Connie briefly wondered how on earth she was going to phrase this. "Connie," Diane said on seeing her. "Does your stabbing require my assistance?" "No, at least I don't think so," She said as she closed the door, giving them a modicum of privacy for this conversation. "But there is something I need you to do for me, something that I will very likely be begging you to do if you don't at first agree." "Would this involve Ric by any chance?" Diane asked, seeing a slightly wild, very worried look in Connie's eyes. "Yes," Connie replied without delay. "Not to put too fine a point on it, he gambled last night, and came home in the small hours feeling unbearably guilty." "So what's new?" Diane asked almost dismissively. "You ought to know as well as I do by now that he's always sorry about it afterwards." Wondering if Diane really had been a good idea, Connie continued. "Diane, I'm not asking for your judgement on his addiction, I'm asking for your help. I knew I shouldn't have left him alone this morning when I came to work, but I couldn't abandon my list just because of a feeling. However, when I went home at lunchtime, just to make sure he was all right, I found him carving patterns into his skin with my favourite scalpel." Diane just sat and stared at her in shock. "I take it that you haven't known him to do this before?" Connie asked, feeling that she might at last be getting somewhere. "No," Diane said in horror. "Never, not Ric." "Well, believe me," Connie said a little acidly. "He did this time. I've tried talking to him, after patching him up, but this stabbing, which will be dead on the table if I don't attend to him soon, has called me back to work." "What do you want me to do?" Diane asked, feeling more than a little out of her depth. "If you've only got paperwork to keep you occupied, I would very much appreciate it if you would go and see him, just while I'm here. I don't entirely trust him to be left on his own at the moment." "Okay," Diane said as she rose to her feet. "But he might not want to see me. I've not always been particularly sympathetic when he's gambled in the past." "He'll always want to see you, Diane," Connie said quietly, knowing that although Ric said he loved her, and there wasn't any doubt that he did, a part of him would always remain in love with Diane, no matter how much time passed without her. After giving Diane directions to her house, Connie rushed along to Darwin theatre, ready to drop straight back into her professional stance, not allowing any thought of Ric or his predicament to influence or disturb her practice of trying to save this man's life. 

As Diane drove towards Connie's house on the outskirts of Holby, she tried to process all the information Connie had given her in that very short space of time. Why on earth had Ric started cutting? Or was it something he'd done before that she simply hadn't been aware of? When she arrived, pulling up in the broad sweep of gravel drive, her eyebrows soared. This really was how the other half lived. When Ric came to the door in answer to her ringing of the bell, Diane was forced to admit that he did look like he'd always done after a night of gambling. "Diane," He said when he saw her. "I've been asked to keep an eye on you until Connie gets home," Diane explained as she moved into the hall. "And now I can see why." "Coffee?" Ric asked as he moved towards the kitchen, clearly wanting to put off the coming conversation as long as possible. Following him into the stone-flagged room with its scrubbed wooden table, and windows looking out onto a large garden, Diane wondered just how she should go about getting him to talk about the cutting. 

When they were seated in Connie's beautifully decorated sitting-room, both in opposite armchairs, Ric took the plunge. "So, just what did Connie tell you, to make you drive out here to see me?" "Well, she started off by telling me that you'd been gambling, which now I'm here I can see for myself. But then she told me something that I really wasn't expecting." After a short silence where neither of them spoke, Diane added, "So, is the cutting a new pastime, or is it something you've previously hidden?" "I didn't want her to tell you about that," Ric said miserably. "Why," Diane demanded sounding hurt. "Or would that require just a little too much honesty and explanation?" "It's complicated," Ric began tiredly. "And no, it's not something I've done before." "So why now?" Diane asked, determined to get at the real reason behind his actions. "When I came home last night," Ric told her tentatively. "I felt disgusted and guilty, and all the other things I usually feel after gambling, but this time, there was the added bit about how I feel for Connie, and as lame as it no doubt sounds, I was terrified of disappointing her. I expected her to either give me a verbal roasting or the proverbial cold shoulder, but she didn't do either. She acted perfectly normally, as though I hadn't done something that most people would back away from as quickly as possible, and for which I certainly wouldn't have blamed her. The only way I can explain it, is that for the first time in my life, I've found someone who appears to understand why I do it, and you've got no idea just how precious that is." 


	42. Chapter 42

A/N: Wonderfully betaed by Iona. 

Part Forty-Two

"Ric," Diane said in complete astonishment at his words. "This is Connie we're talking about: the coldest, most manipulative woman I've ever met in my life." "Which shows just how little you know her," Ric replied a little stonily. "Connie is warm, loving, and more emotionally generous than any woman I have ever known." "And am I included in that list?" Diane demanded acidly, Ric's words cutting her to the core. Taking a deep breath for what he knew was coming, Ric gave Diane the truth, something he had been putting off for years now. "Diane," He began carefully. "Ever since the fiasco with Dominic Fryer, and I'm talking now about what he did to you, you have closed yourself off from everybody, a situation that has only become more pronounced since you chose to abort Steve's baby." Diane recoiled as though she had been slapped. "That has absolutely nothing to do with this," She muttered darkly. "Oh, but it does," Ric told her quietly. "I think that if Steve hadn't died, you wouldn't have done it." "You know why I did that," Diane said bitterly, refusing to meet Ric's gentle gaze. "Yes, I do," He assured her truthfully. "And I would never, ever blame you for making that choice. But because of what then happened to Chrissie, you felt unbearably guilty, and I don't think that has ever entirely left you. You might now be married to Owen, but you haven't emotionally given yourself to him, and I don't think you're happy." "The only time I was ever really happy, was when I was with you," Diane said quietly. "Yes, I know," Ric said regretfully. "And if Dominic Fryer hadn't happened, you might have been happy with me for a lot longer than you were. But I think we both know that it wouldn't have lasted." "But we could still try," Diane said almost desperately, and Ric could now see the tears standing in her eyes, all too ready to fall. "No," He told her quietly. "I'm not the man for you, Diane, and I don't think I ever was. I have far too many imperfections, things about me that you cannot deal with. A couple of years ago, when I couldn't stop gambling for neither love nor money, part of you despised my weakness. Believe me when I say that I frequently agreed with you on that point, and to some extent still do. Diane, I need a woman who, in spite of my numerous failings, can still support me with everything she has. I love Connie because she is rock for me when I need her to be, and because she neither expects nor demands that I change. We can accept each other's failings, which means that neither of us tries to make the other different to what we already are. I don't need to hide anything of who I am from Connie, even though at times I think I should. You need to accept that I have finally moved on from you, Diane," He continued gently. "Because I have actually found someone whom, in spite of her," He hesitated. "Extreme emotional independence is occasionally prepared to admit that she does need the particular brand of love I can give her, no matter how rare that verbal acknowledgement may be." 

Connie had left the hospital as soon as was humanly possible, having pacified the relatives of the stabbing victim, and having seen him safely installed in the high dependency unit. She had drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she'd waited in the interminable Holby traffic, thinking that this must be the most badly designed city she had ever had the misfortune to work in. But when she reached home, she parked in the gravel drive next to Diane's far less conspicuous vehicle, and quietly let herself into the house. She wasn't sure what instinct had prompted her to be so quiet, but the slight temptation to eavesdrop must have had something to do with it. She moved on silent feet across the thick carpet, and stood in the lounge doorway, certainly unnoticed by Diane, and possibly unnoticed by Ric. It didn't escape Connie's gaze that Diane was visibly upset, and as she listened to Ric's clear belief in her, she could all too easily see why. He was explaining to Diane why he loved her, Connie, and it almost brought tears to Connie's own eyes to hear it. 

"We were supposed to be talking about you," Diane said with a sniffle, digging in her handbag for a tissue. "But I think that what we have talked about has been a very long time in coming," Ric said quietly. "You haven't wanted to hear it, and I haven't wanted to say it. But it did need to be said, and now was as good a time as any." "I suppose I'm just finding it difficult, to put the Connie I know and the Connie you seem to know, together in the same person," Diane admitted ruefully. "In some things," Ric said a little heavily, his memories straying back to Boxing Day, and the state in which he'd found her. "You're not all that dissimilar." "Are you trying to tell me," Diane said with growing anger. "That just because the two of us were raped, that makes us similar specimens of the human race?" "No," Ric said calmly, far too used to Diane's spates of fury by now to be remotely bothered by them. "But it does perhaps account for the fact that you both surround yourselves with an emotional armour that the atom bomb probably couldn't penetrate." "Well, I've no doubt that she did something to deserve it," Diane threw back disgustedly, leaving a heavy, bitter silence in its wake. Connie stood there absolutely stunned, still unseen by either of them, as they were far too engrossed in their conversation. "I wish you hadn't said that," Ric said regretfully. "Why, are you going to sit there and tell me it isn't true?" Diane demanded forcefully, now really getting into her stride, all the bitterness and unfairness coming out through her deadly poisoned words. "Don't go any further with this, Diane," Ric warned her darkly. "Because I am already feeling the pull of divided loyalties. You wouldn't have recognised one iota of Connie's persona after Michael's idea of a Christmas row, though she funnily enough reminded me of you at the time. Do you remember, how it took me hours of persuasive reassurance to get out of you exactly what had happened? Well, Connie was exactly the same. Connie thought it was all her fault, just as you did, and she has suffered through just as many terrifying nightmares as you did. So don't ever let me hear you suggest that Connie deserved it. No one deserves something like that, Diane, no one." "I'm sorry," Diane said, and Connie thought that this was her opportunity to step in. 

"A noncommittal silence is worth far more than a thousand empty apologies, Miss Lloyd," Connie said coldly, moving into the light from the open fire and bypassing the stricken look on Ric's face, to focus unerringly on Diane's wide-eyed slightly frightened gaze. Getting hurriedly to her feet, her cheeks flaming with mortification, Diane said, "I should go." "A very wise decision, Miss Lloyd," Connie agreed with her, escorting her to the front door and out onto the drive. But just before getting into her car, Diane turned back for one last attempt. "Connie, I…" She stopped, not knowing of anything she could say that might detract from the things she had obviously said in Connie's hearing. "Just forget it," Connie told her bitterly. "I wanted you to help him, Diane, not to remind him of one of the worst twenty-four hours of his life. If I'd known that all you would do was to verbally batter my lack of virtues as a fellow rape victim, which isn't a phrase I admit lightly, I never would have asked you here." All this had been said in Connie's quiet yet highly authoritative tones, but on finishing her cutting blow, Connie turned on her heel and marched back into the house, closing the door with infinite care, and not with the slam with which she wanted to bang down the lid on the box in her mind, that contained all the memories that Diane's furious words had undoubtedly resurrected. 

Going into the kitchen, Connie poured herself a glass of orange juice from the fridge, and stood looking out of the window as she drank it, needing a little down time before she dealt with the conversation she had stumbled in on. Having given her a little time to calm down, as he knew she would need, Ric walked quietly into the kitchen, and slowly over to where Connie was standing. He had given her space in which to retreat, but she hadn't, and when he put his arms round her from behind, she didn't try to disentangle herself from his hold. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he pressed his cheek on hers, trying to say in a gesture all that he didn't know how to in words. Gradually, Connie began to relax, taking more comfort than she would ever admit to from being in Ric's arms, and having his broad, strong chest at her back. But eventually, it was Ric who broke the silence. "I'm sorry," He said, his cheek still laid on hers. "Don't be sorry about all of it," Connie said with a soft smile. "I was here for more than Miss Lloyd's accusations." "Yes, I did wonder," Ric said with a rueful smile of his own. "Your interruption was far too well timed to have been on the spur of the moment." Connie couldn't help but laugh, turning round within Ric's embrace. "I must say," "She said, her lips very close to his. "You did defend my honour most admirably." "She didn't mean it," Ric said, trying to soften Diane's blow. "Yes, she did," Connie replied matter-of-factly. "But I'm sure I'll get over it. Besides, Diane Lloyd is the last thing I want to talk about right now. All I plan on doing," She said, her arms going up around his neck. "Is taking the man I love to my bed, where I fully intend on matching his particularly exceptional skill in that department. Do you have any objections?" "You said, the man that you love," Ric said in astonishment, staring at her with a mixture of wide-eyed disbelief and tentative hope. "Mmm, yes, I did, didn't I," Connie said almost dismissively. "Well, how very careless of me." "Not if you really meant it," Ric said seriously. "I did," She replied, her eyes locking with his. "I meant every word." As his lips descended on hers, Connie knew that this was what was meant by the feeling of coming home. All that she wanted, all that she needed, resided here in this man in her arms, no longer in some illusive thing that she could spend the rest of her life searching for. 

They were both entirely naked by the time they reached her bedroom, their clothes having been scattered haphazardly along the way. Their passion and need for each other was extreme, as though to combat the previous conversation that Ric had participated in and which Connie had overheard. When the duvet had been cast aside, they were on the bed in an instant, their legs entwining and their hands roving over every inch of skin they could reach. There was nothing slow and building about their loving, though their giving was infinitely tender. As Connie deftly brought him to full arousal with her mouth and hands, Ric buried his face in her sweetness, taking in every morsel of the essence that was pure Connie. He could never get enough of doing this to her, and when he nibbled delicately on her throbbing bud, she cried out, the vibration on his shaft feeling wholly delicious to him. But both seeming to sense what the other wanted, they eventually moved into that age old position, their bodies merging into one, whole being, consumed with love and passion that could have created a new star in the firmament on this special night. Their bodies fused together again and again, their need for each other soaring higher and higher, until they both crashed over the edge of desire with a cry of sheer wonder between them. 

As they lay there afterwards, their breathing gradually returning to normal, Ric observed that Connie was shedding a few brief tears. "Don't you ever, ever do that to me again," She said a little hoarsely, laying a hand over the dressing that still covered his arm. "I couldn't bear to lose you, or to think that you were so unhappy that this seemed a necessary course of action for you. I know that I can't always be there when things get tough, but I am always there in here," She said, gently pushing his fringe back from his forehead. As Ric tried to assure her that he wouldn't do it again, he knew that even when he went back to Ghana in a couple of days, Connie would always be in his thoughts, and he in hers. Nothing, no matter how earth shattering could ever again come between them. 


End file.
